


21 Days of Parentlock Christmas

by MoonRiver



Series: Amelia [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Depression, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Family, Father Christmas - Freeform, Growing Up, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Parenthood, Parentlock, Post-His Last Vow, Sherlock's father - Freeform, Stepfather!Sherlock, Teenage Rebellion, original Morstan-Watson child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>21 tales of Parentlock Christmases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby's First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I've been waiting for the perfect idea to continue my Amelia series and then one day, while thinking about how much I really can't stand Christmas at work, it hit me! Parentlock Christmas! So in an attempt to not be a Scrooge this year I present you with 21 days worth of parentlock Christmas tales. You don't have to be familiar with the Amelia series to understand them!
> 
> P.S.: These won't necessarily be told in chronological order.

John let out a soft groan as his he drifted out of sleep. His arms wrapped around his pillow as he stretched out his legs, his body not yet ready to leave the warm serenity of his bed. But the skin was prickling on the back of his neck, and he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. Sure enough, his eyes flashed open to find Sherlock staring at him. His lover lay with his hands folded beneath his cheek and a relaxed smile on his face.

“Happy Christmas, John.”

A smile swept across John’s face as reality came back to him: his daughter’s first Christmas. For the first time in his life he was in charge of the gift giving, the Christmas dinner, the decorations. The day before his daughter had met Father Christmas for the first time…and continued to burst into tears. The crying baby, his own frustration, and Sherlock’s bright smile made for an excellent picture above the mantel. He had stuffed stockings, bought the Christmas ham, and even sent out Christmas cards like a real adult. John handled his first Christmas as a dad like a pro, and it was all worth it to see that smile on Sherlock’s face and to know his daughter was anxiously waiting for him to come get her out of bed.

Okay, so the poor kid was only four months old and had no clue what Christmas was.

But it was all worth it, to him.

“Happy Christmas, Sherlock,” he murmured.

They shared a brief kiss before collapsing back against the mattress. With a satisfied sigh John rolled over, his eyes gazing at the ceiling in wonder. It was times like this when it seemed surreal how much his life had changed. In the matter of a few years he had gone from doctor, to soldier, to flatmate of a mad consulting detective, to losing his best friend, to gaining a wife, to having his heart broken, to being a widow, and finally to becoming a single father. It was times like this when he had to wonder how it could all even be real.

 _How are you managing it?_ People liked to ask.

Truth be told, he had no clue.

But here it was, Christmas.

He had gotten all of Sherlock’s mum’s favourite recipes for dinner. They were having the family over for food and presents later. A decorated tree stood tall before the picture window.

“We did it,” John finally breathed, “we made it to Christmas Day.”

“It seemed like it might never get here,” Sherlock teased.

His partner grabbed his hand and offered it a supportive squeeze.

“You can still bail,” John grinned.

“No,” Sherlock announced, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. “I’m in this for the long haul…or at least long enough to see how your Christmas ham turns out.”

Eyes twinkling, Sherlock rolled off the bed, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and pulled it over his head before waltzing out of the bedroom. With another sigh John lifted himself from the bed and followed Sherlock to his daughter’s room. He smiled at the stocking with an "A" on it that hung on the door- since they didn’t have a fireplace he thought it would be cute to make a tradition of hanging stockings on their bedroom doors for Father Christmas to find. He had a “J” and Sherlock had an “S” on their own bedroom door as well.

“Good morning little one,” Sherlock sang as he pushed the door open. He beamed over at John as they both leaned over Amelia’s crib. The little girl’s eyes batted open, and she even flashed a tiny smile at them. They laughed, still in awe of how beautiful and amazing she was. “Merry Christmas, Amelia.”

“Merry Christmas, baby girl!” John said softly as he lifted his daughter into his arms. He planted a kiss to her forehead and let her grab his hand. “I think Father Christmas brought you something last night. Want to come and see?”

“I still don’t think we should be telling her about this whole Father Christmas business," Sherlock mumbled.

John glared at Sherlock. They had had the “Father Christmas” conversations a dozen times that winter, but John won every time as he insisted his daughter deserved to experience the thrill of believing in him. After all, everyone eventually found out he isn’t real, and it wasn’t like people actually became traumatised over it. Amelia was going to grow up loving Father Christmas, and that was that.

“He did bring you something!” Sherlock chimed in instead. He grabbed Amelia’s stocking as they headed into the living room, where John had already set up the Princess play mat he bought for her on the floor. Gently, he lowered the baby down to the mat and she immediately began reaching for the figures hanging down above her.

“This was a brilliant idea!” John said as he watched his daughter laugh. “Thank you for picking it up.”

He shared a quick kiss with Sherlock before getting to his feet.

“Father Christmas brought you something too, you know,” John said as he walked over to the tree. He picked up a tiny box with a sticker that read “Sherlock” on it. He grinned as he watched Sherlock’s eyes light up. He’d never seen his friend open a gift as quickly as he did, but when Sherlock saw the gift was a key he stopped. Taking a deep breath, John explained: “I thought it was about time you had one for the house. You can come by, as much as you’d like. I also cleaned out some space in the closet for you, you know, in case you want to-“

He was swept up in a brilliant, soft, sweet kiss before he could finish.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, breathless, as they pulled away.

A tiny squeal of a laugh erupted nearby, and they were both grinning ear to ear as they turned to find Amelia’s little hand batting at the objects swinging above her. Carefully, John knelt down next to her and stroked his daughter’s cheek.

“Do you think she looks like Mary?” John asked softly as he gazed into Amelia’s beautiful, brown, eyes.

“She has your eyes,” Sherlock replied. A sudden kiss was planted to his neck, and Sherlock’s hand fell to his lower back. “And your nose.”

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose like John was so prone to do, but he could only take a second of mockery before he burst out laughing.

“Cute,” John teased. “I suppose she’ll have Mary’s personality then.”

“John-“

His lover pulled him close, and John let out a sigh of defeat.

“She has the best dad ever,” Sherlock said, “a dad who put together a brilliant first Christmas.”

“You really think so?” John asked as he looked down at the little girl playing on the floor.

 _She’s all mine,_ he thought, _all mine to raise, to teach…to spoil rotten._ _We’ll have dozens of Christmases together, and every one of them will be absolutely perfect._

“Yeah, I think so,” Sherlock whispered, stealing a kiss to his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only the beginning! There are many stories to come on this ride into the future, and I will try my very best to actually do a story every day until Christmas. If I miss a day or give up it's not because I hate you. I probably just started hating Christmas again. 
> 
> Okay...in all seriousness this is a challenge I've given myself, and I'm determined to make this a really fun story for you all to read! I hope you have enjoyed the beginning! Thank you for reading, and I would love to hear your feedback. Stay tuned!
> 
> Oh, and this is the princess play mat: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tiny-Love-Gymini-Princess-Play/dp/B002BSHTT4


	2. On the Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a few mishaps while cooking Christmas dinner.

“And now for my next trick,” Sherlock announced, “Dr John Watson’s famous Christmas ham…made possible this year by Sherlock Holmes, since Dr Watson had to work.”

Two year old Amelia squealed with delight and clapped her hands from her nearby highchair. Sherlock had given her paper and crayons to keep her busy, but his boyfriend’s daughter only seemed interested in watching him cook. John had taken an emergency call from a patient and left Sherlock to do the cooking, babysitting, finish gift-wrapping, and tidy up.

No problem, right?

No problem…at…all…

“You owe me for this, Dr Watson,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he opened the oven and peered into it.

The ham looked ready enough, to his standards, so he grabbed the oven mitts.

“Ham!” Amelia exclaimed, clapping her hands together once again. John had spent the whole morning teaching her how to say the word, and now she wouldn't stop proudly displaying her new vocabulary skills.

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed, “the beloved bloody ham. Why we can’t just have Chinese, I don’t understand.”

At least for now, the ham was done, and he could move on.

“Ham!” Amelia cried as he reached in to pull the dish out.

_Carefully,_ he told himself, _very carefully take the ham out, and then you’re done._

“Ser!” Amelia suddenly squealed loudly at the very moment he shifted the pan into his hands.

All of a sudden something hit him in the back of his head and poked him in the neck- it was a bloody crayon!

“Amelia,” he groaned, but he ultimately decided to ignore her.

Just as he began standing upright again something hard and plastic hit him in square in the side of his head- she threw her bottle at him! He was so surprised that he briefly lost his balance, tripped over his own feet, and fell backwards onto his arse.

And on his way down to the floor the ham fell, sliding to the ground.

_Shit!_ He thought. _Shit, bloody fuck, shit!_

He scurried to get the ham back on the pan. A few seconds didn’t matter, right? Nearby, Amelia burst out laughing and cried:

“Ser! Ser! Ser!”

It was like he was the star of his own bloody circus.

His face was growing hot. If John was here he would have a fit about food touching the floor, but there was no way was he going to restart just because of a simple mishap.

“No one has to know,” Sherlock said to the two year old. “The ham is perfectly fine. It was only on the floor for a few seconds."

“Ser!” Amelia sang. “Ser! Ser! Ser!”

“Stop calling me that,” he sighed, “it makes you sound like you’re calling me ‘Sir’.”

“Ser fell! Ham fell!” Amelia giggled.

“No…” Sherlock said. “Ham didn’t fall. Ham is perfectly fine. Ham only touched the floor for a few seconds.”

“Ham fell!” Amelia cheered, throwing her hands in the air.

Sherlock scowled; why did she have to be so smart?

“Ham fell!” Amelia cried again. “Ser make ham fell!”

“No,” Sherlock insisted. “Ham is perfectly fine. Ham is yummy. This ham just baked in the oven for a very long time. Just because it was on the floor for a few seconds doesn’t mean it’s not still yummy and good. Your father cleans these floors obsessively, they’re perfectly fine! The chances of any bacteria being on this floor are zero to none!”

The little girl just smiled more brightly, and her grin was so sweet it almost made him forget how stressed out he was. No one would notice he dropped the ham, right? He could just…clean it up a bit.

“The ham is perfectly fine,” he insisted.

He tried to get to his feet again, but he slipped on the very bottle Amelia had thrown at him and tripped again. And once again, the ham tipped over just enough to fall to the floor.

“No way,” he murmured.

Did the world just hate him today?

Meanwhile he smelt the potatoes burning. His mobile was ringing- surely his parents letting him know they were on their way, and the front door opened.

John was home early.

Sherlock stared at Amelia, and Amelia stared back. He had about five seconds to get up before John walked in, and if Amelia could manage to stay quiet long enough he could pick up the ham, save the potatoes, and pretend like nothing happened.

_If_ Amelia could stay quiet.

The sound of the doorknob twisting rang in his ears, and Sherlock’s eyes met the little girl’s eyes.

“Shh!” He whispered, holding a finger to his lips.

He scooped the ham back onto the pan once again and was just about to successfully stand up when-

The crying began.

Amelia screamed at the top of her lungs. Her bright smile turned into closed eyes and tightened into fists. The door burst opened, and the sound of John’s feet pounding made him freeze.

“Sherlock?” John demanded. “What’s the matter with Amelia?”

Suddenly John’s eyes found him, and Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he felt so embarrassed. There he was, hovering over the floor with the ham about to tip out of its pan again. Amelia was throwing a fit in her highchair, and John wasted no time scooping her up in his arms.

“Ser fell ham!”Amelia screamed.

With a scowl, Sherlock threw a helpless look to his boyfriend.

“You fell ham?” John demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“Fuck,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

“’uck!” Amelia cried through her tears.

John glared at him as he protectively held his daughter in his hands and swirled around, heading toward the bedroom.

“And for my final trick,” Sherlock muttered to himself, “I teach the baby how to swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you are enjoying so far! Thank you to those who left feedback, I really appreciate it! I always love knowing what you think :)


	3. No Pets Allowed

“Daddddyyy!!!”

John nearly fell over in shock as his daughter’s voice suddenly squealed in his hear. He was sitting on the sofa enjoying a rare afternoon off with a book he had been dying to read for weeks. A cup of tea sat on the table beside him, and the Christmas tree provided a nice glow in the room. The house was quiet for a change, with Sherlock out on a case and five year old Amelia old enough to preoccupy herself with colouring books in her room.

Until she realised she wanted something, of course.

He kept his eyes peeled to his book as he replied:

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Amelia was at the age of begging for everything little thing that came to mind, and he was beginning to learn that ignoring her tended to be the best way to bring her back down to earth. He reached for his tea and sipped at it as she explained:

“I know what I want for Chrissstttmasss!” It was December 1st, and he had informed Amelia last night that it was officially time for her to write her Christmas list. “A pony!”

He choked on the tea.

“Pony?” He asked, hoarse. Clearing his throat, he took a moment to wrap his mind around what she said. What could have possibly convinced her that she could ever get a pony for Christmas? “Amelia, we can’t have a pony in the suburbs!”

“Then we can move to the country!”

As though it was just that easy.

And he thought the terrible twos were bad.

“Amelia,” he sighed, “Have you ever seen a pony just roaming around the streets and going into people’s houses?

With a shrug, Amelia pointed out:

“But Shannon has one! Tell him, Shannon.”

John paused, and it was a full moment before he realised Shannon was apparently in the room. Amelia was looking at the empty space beside her, and everything clicked: Shannon was an imaginary friend.

He quickly decided the best course of action was to just go along with her. Kids grew out of this phase, right? It wouldn’t hurt to let her think she had her own best mate living right at home.

“Shannon says ponies are easy to take care of, and they’re pretty and fun to ride and-“

“Amelia, no,” he insisted, “ponies belong on farms where they can run around all day and be free. They can’t live in the suburbs.”

Even though the idea of owning a pony was simply insane, he actually felt a bit bad that he had to tell her no. He just had to remind himself that in a few minutes she would have her mind set on something new.

“Daddyyyy?” Amelia pleaded. Or perhaps in just a few seconds. “Can I get a puppy?”

He paused. Truth be told, he knew Sherlock had wanted a dog ever since he lost his childhood best friend/Redbeard. There was really no reason they couldn’t have a dog.

Oh what was he thinking?

“Amelia, dogs are expensive. They require constant care. You have to feed them every morning, walk them every day-“

“I can do that!”

“Maybe when you’re older,” he offered.

There was a pause, and he thought maybe Amelia had finally gotten her mind off getting a pet. He made a mental note to have the “pet” discussion with Sherlock so it was understood that no animal was to come into this house until Amelia was mature enough to take care of it. He couldn’t give her a living, breathing, thing to take care of just because it was the first thing she thought of for her Christmas list!

“Daddy?” Amelia asked in that calm, innocent, voice that usually worked so well on Sherlock- but not so much on him. “What about a birdie?”

Oh god, like they really needed a _bird_ hanging around. Actually…it might be worth it just to see Sherlock’s face when he planted a bird cage down amongst all of his experiments.

“No pets, Amelia,” he protested.

“Or a fishie?! Fishies are pretty too!”

Fishies _smell_! He wanted to say, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“No, Amelia, you’re just not old enough to take care of a pet, and you know Sherlock and I are too busy to take care of one.”

“It’s not fair!” Amelia exclaimed before she stormed away, her little eyes swelling with tears.

 _Well,_ he thought, _that could have gone a lot worse._

Later that night after Sherlock got home from his case John sat down with him as he ate a late dinner. He wanted to warn Sherlock that Amelia was starting to beg for pets- without, of course, mentioning that she wanted a dog. If Sherlock found out she wanted a dog he would just team up with Amelia and John would never hear the end of it.

“She wants a pony,” John admitted.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he burst out laughing.

“A pony? We live in the bloody suburbs!”

“I explained that to her!” John insisted. “But she just kept going on and on. She just thinks of the first thing that comes to her mind and she begs for it like she thinks I can just snap my fingers and make it appear out of thin air.”

“Well I tried to warn you about telling her all this Father Christmas business,” Sherlock shot. “Now she thinks she can literally get anything.”

The worst thing was, he knew Sherlock was right. Amelia was five now: how much longer could he keep letting her believe it was Father Christmas bringing her toys each year?

“It’s not a big deal,” Sherlock offered, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “All kids want ponies.”

“You didn’t want a pony,” he pointed out.

“No,” Sherlock said, his lips turned up in a sly grin. “But Mycroft did.”

They both snickered, but suddenly Amelia’s door opened and John motioned to Sherlock to be quiet.

“Come on Freddy!” Amelia announced as she skipped through the living room, holding her hand by her side like she was holding a dog leash. “It’s time to go for your walk. Then we’ll come back and feed you a nice big dinner!”

She flashed a cheeky grin at John, as though she were making some kind of point.

_Great._

“She wants a dog?!” Sherlock demanded. “A pony is ridiculous, but a dog is an opportunity, John!”

“An opportunity?” He shot. “Yeah, an opportunity for me to do all the feeding, all the walking, and all the picking up its poo!”

“It will help her learn responsibility!” Sherlock said. “If she can’t have a pony, she can have a dog.”

“She can’t have either! Pets are too expensive and they’re too much responsibility.”

Sherlock pouted and stuck out his bottom lip like a child.

“That’s not fair!” Sherlock whined. “Why can’t we get a dog for Christmas? Pleaseeeee?”

Letting out a frustrated huff, John jumped up from the table and began clearing it.

“No pets for Christmas,” John said, jamming his fork toward Sherlock. “No pets at all until both _children_ in this house are responsible enough.”

His boyfriend tried to look genuinely hurt at the insult, but John just rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” Sherlock shot, “I’ll just go help Amelia walk Freddie.”

The consulting detective made a show of jumping up from the table and waltzing out the door. John could see the two of them through the picture window, pretending to walk an imaginary puppy. He had to admit it was quite adorable…but he forced himself to not be swayed.

“No pets,” he muttered to himself. “I will not wake up early every morning to pick up poo.”

His mobile went off, and he sighed when he saw it was a text from Sherlock:

_She just asked me to pick up the imaginary dog’s poo. You probably made the right call._

John just smirked, and replied back:

_I’m Dad. Of course I made the right call._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! How do you like it so far?


	4. Just Like the Old Days

“Worst Christmas ever,” John chanted as he banged his head against the back of Sherlock’s head.

They sat back to back, tied to chairs in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. Sherlock had been working on a drugs case with the Yard for weeks, but when he finally got his break it was John he wanted to help him investigate.

 _It would be just like the old days,_ Sherlock promised.

Feeling nostalgic, John agreed, only to find himself being pistol-whipped not two hours into their investigation.

“Worst Christmas ever,” he chanted again.

“Would you stop doing that?” Sherlock demanded. “My head’s already pounding. You’re going to give me a concussion!”

John thought about it for a moment before banging his head back against Sherlock’s one final time, more forcefully than before.

“Ow!” Sherlock whined.

“You’re fine,” John sighed. There was a long moment of silence before he realised with horror that he had been knocked out before Sherlock. “You are fine, right?”

His husband let out a long, dramatic, sigh before he replied:

“Yes. I did try to save your life, you know.”

“Oh?” John asked, perking up a bit. It had been years since Sherlock had to come to his rescue; honestly the thought of his lover playing hero for him again was a bit…sexy. “What did you do?”

There was another pause before:

“…okay, fine, he knocked me out the second after you. I did think of rescuing you in my head, though.”

“Charming.”

Together they both sighed. Secretly, they knew they were getting far too old to be running around like this. They couldn’t even manage a simple warehouse investigation without getting caught. Sherlock trusted him enough to be the lookout, but he couldn’t even do that.

“Why did I think I can still do this?” John wondered out loud. “We have a bloody kid for Christ’s sake. What if something happened? How did I use to do this, this running into danger without thinking about my own safety?”

His answer was Sherlock’s laughter bouncing across the room.

“You’re joking, right? You lived for this stuff! Danger made you feel _alive_. You and me, we just had this…this confidence. Like no matter what we got into, we knew we could get out of it. It gave us…power. We were on top of the world.”

“We were idiots,” John snorted. “It’s our first Christmas a married couple, and we decided to spend it out on a case. We’re not young anymore, Sherlock. We have officially settled down. Bloody hell, we have a schedule for who makes dinner each night. We should be at home with our kid. Now our eleven year old daughter is at home with your _brother_ on Christmas.”

“Oh god. Poor Amelia.”

“Poor Mycroft.”

Closing his eyes, John about the situation they were in. There was sunlight shining through the windows at the top of the warehouse, and it had been eleven AM when they were kidnapped. He didn’t think they’d been out long, but they weren’t due home for Christmas dinner until six. It could be hours before anyone knew they were missing.

Hours.

A small smile peered at the corners of John’s lips.

“You know…” he began. “This is the longest time we’ve had to ourselves in ages.”

“The perfect date,” Sherlock laughed. “Admit it: you had fun up until the kidnapping part.”

“Yeah…”

Taking in a deep breath, John could still catch a whiff of the shampoo Sherlock used this morning. If he closed his eyes he could just feel his husband’s arms around him in a warm embrace that said _everything’s going to be okay._ In reality all he could feel was Sherlock’s cold hands tied against his, but they had been sitting so long he would soon not be able to feel that either.

“Remember your old deerstalker?” John suddenly asked.

“I thought we agreed we would let the deerstalker die the respectful death it deserved.”

John grinned.

“I got you one for Christmas,” he admitted. “I, erm, thought you might want to wear it the next time we…you know.”

His own body became warm and aroused just at the very thought, and he knew Sherlock was having the same reaction.

“Only if you bring out your army uniform.”

John’s breath hitched and his body went completely stiff. They needed a change of topic, _quick_.

“Are you two quite finished?” Lestrade’s voice suddenly boomed. The two of them looked around, each wondering if they were imagining things. A feeling of relief rushed over him when he saw Lestrade emerge from the shadows.

“How long were you standing there?” Sherlock demanded.

“Long enough to hear things I will never be able to unhear,” Lestrade shot as he rushed over to untie them. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

As their hands were released John immediately grabbed Sherlock’s so he could massage them to help his circulation.

“How did you find us?” John asked. “I thought no one would know we were missing for hours.”

“One of my men saw John’s car parked about a block away. It’s a shady neighbourhood, and Mycroft said you two were out on a case so we decided to poke around. You two are lucky.”

“Yeah,” John mumbled, meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

When he saw Sherlock’s injuries for the first time he stopped breathing for a second. There was a thick cut over Sherlock’s right eye and dried blood was caked into his black curls. Gently, John reached up to touch his face, and when his husband flinched he threw him a small smile.

Sherlock didn’t waste another second of time and before John realised what was happening he became trapped in a fierce kiss. His husband’s hands landed on his shoulder, gripping him tightly as their lips remained locked.

“Oh come on,” Lestrade sighed, “let’s get you two to the ambulance.”

John didn’t move. He never wanted to move. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s tall, thin, body and pulled him close.

He never wanted to move.

“Right,” Lestrade sighed. “The ambulance is outside whenever you two are ready…and I suggest you start thinking of a way to explain to your daughter why you’re both so beat up.”

John barely heard him. All he could concentrate on was the sound of Sherlock breathing, the feeling of Sherlock’s lips on his. In his mind it was thirteen years earlier, and he could just picture them rushing up the steps of Baker Street, running on the adrenaline that used to get them through cases.

And just for that moment, he let himself miss those days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for all the lovely feedback :)


	5. Decorating

John frowned as he held the mess of Christmas lights up to his face. It was the first weekend of December, which was traditionally the weekend he spent every year fighting with this bloody Christmas tree. Sherlock was of no help, of course, as he sat at the kitchen island looking through a microscope. Fourteen year old Amelia was in her room, too busy chatting with her “BFF Krista” to help. And so there he was, left to do everything by himself.

And he was sick of it.

Why should he be the only person to make an effort with the decorations?

Forcefully, he threw the lights to the floor and stared at his husband for a moment, mouth agape, before demanding:

“Are you really just going to sit there and let me do all the work?”

“I like watching,” Sherlock replied. “You look hot, what with all the…lights, sparkly stuff, and that reindeer jumper.”

He glanced down at his jumper: he had to admit, it might have been a bit much.

“You’re not even watching me!” He whined. “Please help me. I do this on my own every year.”

“You do not!” Sherlock protested, without even looking at him. “I’ve helped loads already!”

“Yes, you brought the box down from the closet,” he replied sarcastically.

“See? You couldn’t have started without me.”

With an over-dramatic sigh of frustration, John kicked at the box of ornaments on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. He could get back at his ungrateful husband and daughter by not putting up the tree at all…but then again they would probably act like it was nothing and he would spend the entire season missing the tree himself.

But there was one thing he could do that most definitely would annoy Sherlock…

He could do everything _wrong_.

An evil grin spread across his face, and John began humming innocently as he began stringing the lights- but only around the bottom half of the tree. He grabbed the tinsel next and strung it only around the top half of the tree. He threw open the box of ornaments and grabbed a few of the tacky plastic ones from the movies and telly Sherlock hate- his own _Star Trek_ ornaments and Amelia’s _Doctor Who_. Next was ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ and then an ornament Amelia made in school when she was nine. Her picture was on it, displaying one of her missing front teeth and the snowmen jumper Sherlock’s mum had gotten her that year. Amelia loathed that ornament with a passion and tried to find a way to get rid of it every year.

Bending down, he plugged in the lights and then stepped back to admire his work. The tree looked absolutely hideous, and he beamed at the sight.

“Done!” He announced proudly, catching Sherlock’s attention.

His husband looked up at the eyesore and immediately frowned.

“What do you mean done?” Sherlock shot. He turned back to his experiment as he continued: “You’ve got the lights and tinsel on all wrong and…I count only five ornaments, and they’re the most hideous ones we own.”

With a fake gasp of disgust, John exclaimed:

“You did not just call an ornament our daughter made that has her face on it hideous!”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock replied:

“Oh she hates it and you know it! You just drag it out to annoy her.”

“Well it’s going up this year,” John said. “In fact, I think I’m going to go ahead and pull back the curtains so all the neighbours can see-“

“Fine!” Sherlock suddenly groaned. “I’ll help you with the bloody tree. You’ve made your point.”

John grinned as Sherlock jumped off the barstool and trudged over to where their tree stood, looking pitiful.

“You’re pathetic,” Sherlock teased; yet he grinned, incapable of being mad at him for too long. They shared a quick kiss before Sherlock began unraveling the tinsel and John went to work on fixing the lights. “And mean.”

With a chuckle, John traded places with Sherlock so they could work on the other side of the tree. His eyes found the ornament with the picture of little Amelia again, and a knot formed in his stomach. Year fourteen had been a difficult one as a parent, that was for sure. All those horrible stories parents told of their kids turning into teenagers were true: the lying, the backtalk, the sneaking around. Amelia only seemed to care about boys and her friends.

And he was told it only got worse.

“Think we should leave it up?” Sherlock asked, nodding to the ornament.

He knew Sherlock must have been thinking the same exact thing as he was. They both glanced toward Amelia’s room longingly, knowing it wasn’t likely she would want to join them in decorating.

“Yeah,” John grinned. “If she wants to pick out the ornaments she should have helped with the tree.”

They shared a laugh before they began working on the tree- together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying this so far!


	6. Waiting for Father Christmas

Sherlock Holmes was exhausted.

After five hours of last minute shopping, two hours of Christmas Eve dinner with John’s sister (who was celebrating seven years sober), and another hour of playing carols on the violin, Sherlock’s body had had it. He was done. But John had said he wanted to go to bed early so Sherlock volunteered to do the washing up. It was midnight before he was finished- officially Christmas Day- and he made it as far as the sofa before he collapsed. His legs could no longer move, his mind could no longer think.

But as tired as he was, he found himself too wound up to sleep.

It was Amelia’s seventh Christmas. He had nearly fallen over in shock when John commented to him about it this afternoon; where had time gone? It felt like it was just last week that he had moved in with the Watsons so that John could have an extra hand with the baby (and so that he and Sherlock could work on their relationship, of course). To him and John it seemed like Amelia had only just started talking yesterday, and she had just taken her first steps that morning.

Now she was getting her very first ‘big girl’ bike for Christmas, and he and John were preparing themselves to teach her how to ride it. She was growing up fast, and right before their eyes she was changing from this tiny little newborn to this girl with dreams, talent, and the brightest smile Sherlock had ever seen in his life.

“Sherlock?” Amelia’s voice called softly from the hallway. He sat up in shock; he was _still_ getting used to her being able to pronounce his name correctly.

“What are you doing up, love?” Sherlock asked as he motioned for Amelia to join him on the sofa. She hopped into his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss to her cheek.

“I wanted to see Santa!”

Of course.

Sherlock went into panic mode. How did he and John not have a plan for this kind of situation?

“Well sweetie…” he said, hesitating as he thought quickly. Then suddenly, he came up with the perfect answer. “Santa won’t come unless all the children are asleep! It’s in the Santa Rule Book.”

“Really?” Amelia asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes really,” Sherlock said, hugging her tightly.

“Can you tell me a story? It will help me go back to sleep. Pleaseeee!!!”

With a sigh, Sherlock closed his eyes. On one hand he thought he finally felt ready to slip into bed and get some sleep himself, but on the other he wanted to spend as much time enjoying Christmas with Amelia as possible. There _was_ only one more day of the Christmas season, after all.

Now _those_ were words he never thought he’d say.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. Clearing his throat, he began: “It was the night before Christmas and all through the house-“

“No silly!” Amelia giggled. “I wanna hear a detective story!”

“A detective story?” He frowned.

“I want the one about the doggy!”

The doggy? Then he realised: she must have overheard someone talking about The Hounds of Baskerville case.

“Well…it was quite a big doggy, actually,” Sherlock said. “And it all started on a dark, creepy moor.”

Before he knew it they had stayed up another hour telling stories about him and John at Dartmoor. The next thing he knew his eyes batted open to daylight, and Amelia was jumping up and down in front of him.

“You were right Sherlock!” Amelia cried. “I went to sleep and Santa did come!”

There was a big grin on her face as she turned to the presents piled up on the tree. John shuffled over to him, all dressed in his Christmas pyjamas (yes, he really owned a pair) with his hair still a mess from sleeping. Letting out a laugh, Sherlock ran his hand through John’s hair to help straighten it out.

“Happy Christmas,” John said as a smile slipped across his lips.

Sherlock pulled him in for a soft, sweet kiss before replying:

“Happy Christmas.”

As soon as they broke apart, John announced:

“So…she told me you told her about Baskerville.” Sherlock’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and he decided it was best to just ignore him for now. “And that you stayed up until one in the morning waiting for Santa with her.”

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to ignore John for long so he confessed:

“I _did_ tell her if she didn’t go to sleep Santa wouldn’t come.”

John stole a quick kiss to his cheek and beamed at him.

“Thank you,” his partner breathed in his ear.

“Daddy, Sherlock, presents!” Amelia cried, grabbing both John and Sherlock by the hand as she led them toward the tree.

“Right,” John laughed. “Presents it is!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!


	7. A Christmas Proposal Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been wanting to know why it took so long for Sherlock and John to get married...well, Amelia wants to know why too!

“Daddy?”

John glanced up at the familiar call. He was busy rolling dough into circles to make Christmas biscuits. His daughter watched him for a moment, hesitant, and for a second he worried she might actually want to have some horrible conversation with him. Like a talk about boys…or periods…or makeup.

“Yes sweetheart?” He asked, swallowing nervously.

“Can I ask you something personal?” She asked softly.

“Of course, love,” he replied. “You know you can ask me anything.”

_Just preferably nothing about boys, periods, or makeup. I’m just not ready for you to grow up that much yet!_

The ten-year old bit her lip for a long moment before she drew in a deep breath and asked:

“Why aren’t you and Sherlock married?”

His eyes went wide, and he dropped the dough he was holding.

This topic was even worse. He had been dreading having this conversation with Amelia because he was afraid of disappointing her. It was obvious to both him and Sherlock that Amelia wanted them to get married (what with her constant ‘that would be a pretty place for a wedding, wouldn’t it, Daddy?’), but how could he even begin explaining his partner’s views on marriage and religion? Sherlock had made his views on the subject clear long ago- first back when he proposed to Mary and again after the two of them had been together- and John had learned to accept them.

However much he might disagree with him.

But how was a ten-year old supposed to understand all of that?

“Want to help me with the biscuits?” He asked to break the ice. She nodded, and he guided her over to the sink so she could wash her hands first. When they returned to the counter he watched as his daughter expertly grabbed a handful of dough and began moulding it into the shape of a biscuit. “That’s very good, Amelia.”

“Can I get out the Christmas tree cutters?” She asked hopefully.

He nodded, and she bent down to pull them out of the cabinets. She didn’t even need his help as she began cutting out shapes of Christmas trees into the dough, and his lips curled up in a smile.

“Amelia…” he began, hesitant at first. But then she looked up at him, attentive and waiting for his explanation. She was old enough to know; she deserved to. “When your mum and I got married no one supported us more than Sherlock. Sherlock adored your mother, and he made sure that we had the best wedding possible. He vowed to protect our marriage and our family no matter what. He went…above and beyond when it came to sticking to his word. After your mum died well, you know this part of the story: we fell in love, he moved in, and we became our own little family. But deep down, I think Sherlock always felt guilty. I think he was afraid it was like he was replacing your mum.”

“But he’s not,” Amelia frowned, “Sherlock’s not a mummy.”

His smile brightened; he loved that his little girl was so smart and mature for her age.

“No, and he will never replace her,” John agreed. “But Sherlock can be very…fragile.”

“Is it true that he had never had a boyfriend or girlfriend before you?” She asked.

He couldn’t help but to feel protected of his lover; who would have dare to tell Amelia something like that?

But again, he knew she deserved the truth.

He wondered if he should count Janine as a girlfriend.

“Well, he didn’t have very many serious relationships,” he confessed, “and that’s part of the reason for us not being married, actually. Being in love can be very scary. I knew I was in love with Sherlock the moment we kissed for the first time, but he was very nervous. I think it took him almost a full year before he really realised that I _actually_ liked him.”

Amelia giggled, and he relaxed a little bit. He reached for some the dough and helped her with the biscuits as he continued:

“Our main focus, of course, was raising you. You know, we went on a total of three dates during the first six months of our relationship. We were so busy with you we weren’t even sure what to do with our personal lives.”

_Except have sex,_ he thought to himself, _lots and lots of sex_.

“So that was the first year,” Amelia pointed out, “but what about the next nine?”

Laughing, he had to admire her cleverness.

“Honestly, we were so focused on raising you that things like marriage didn’t really enter our minds for some time,” he admitted. “Once you have a child time goes by lightning fast. One minute your kid’s in nappies, and the next she’s standing in front of the Christmas tree singing about Rudolph.”

Amelia’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and he chuckled and the memory.

“Did Sherlock _ever_ want to get married?” She asked.

And there it was.

He hesitated at first, but she had handled everything well so far. Maybe she was mature enough to understand.

“Sherlock’s beliefs about marriage are a bit…different than mine,” he admitted. “Sherlock doesn’t think that two people need to be married to prove they can be together forever.”

There was a long moment of silence as Amelia stopped, letting that soak in. At first he was afraid he had tainted her image of the kind of man Sherlock was, and he felt worse when she pointed out:

“But you said he was really excited about you and Mummy getting married.

“Yes,” he said, “but that’s because it was what _I_ wanted at the time. He supported _us_ , and if that meant making sure we had the best wedding possible, that’s what he was going to do. But deep down, Sherlock…well, he just doesn’t think marriage is very necessary.”

He hated himself for putting it that way, but he didn’t want to get into a deep discussion about marriage and religious beliefs with his ten-year old daughter.

“But it’s what you want,” Amelia challenged. She eyed him, testing him. “Right?”

He swallowed nervously.

Of course it was what he wanted!

All he had wanted for the past nine years was to marry Sherlock and be able to call him his husband. He wanted to put a ring around his finger and stand up at their wedding and confess to everyone how utterly in love he was.

But above all else, he wanted whatever Sherlock wanted.

“A relationship is about what _both_ partners want,” he said.

Amelia looked a bit hurt, and his stomach turned to knots at the thought of disappointing her.

“What about what _I_ want?” She said quietly.

His heart skipped a beat, and he nearly lost his balance.

Did Amelia just admit that she wanted Sherlock to be her father? He knew she had been a bit wedding-crazy lately, but he thought she was just getting swept up in the glamour of it all. Maybe all she really wanted was for her father and his partner to become husbands.

“Sweetie,” he whispered, turning her to face him. She looked like she might cry as her soft brown eyes lifted to meet his. She was the spitting image of him, people said, but he always thought she looked the most like Mary. And talking about this felt a bit like talking to a younger version of his late wife, which made this even harder. He shook the image out of his mind as he continued: “Marriage isn’t just about weddings and big parties. It’s a lifelong commitment. It would mean that Sherlock would legally become your father.”

“I know,” Amelia whispered in return.

His heart fluttered, and he was worried he would stop breathing. He began to break out into sweat; he felt a bit lightheaded.

“You really want us to get married?” He asked. She nodded. “Amelia…to this day, Sherlock feels a bit guilty about being with me after your mum died. Sherlock’s been through a lot in his life, more than you know, and he’s…quite frankly I think he’s a bit terrified at the very thought of marriage. I think he feels ‘safe’ being in a relationship but not a marriage. And like I said…his beliefs about marriage are different.”

“Then tell him he’s stupid,” Amelia announced, “and tell him he’s being a baby. Marriage is what grown up people do when they’re in love and want to spend the rest of their lives together. He can’t be scared of it. And it’s what you want! And you should get what you want.”

He found himself beaming from ear to ear- he couldn’t believe she had just said that to his face! He wanted to tell her it was more complicated than that but who knew, maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to have the ‘marriage’ talk with Sherlock again.

And by have the talk, he meant propose.

He kneeled down on one knee, just like he would do with Sherlock, and gently held onto Amelia’s shoulders.

“You would be okay with Sherlock being your Dad?” He asked. She nodded, her eyes lit up with delight. “Come here, you.”

He pulled her into a tight hug, and she let out a cry of excitement.

“Will he change his name to Watson?” She asked.

He burst out laughing at the very thought of ‘Sherlock Watson’. It just didn’t roll off the tongue well, did it?

“I don’t think so,” he admitted.

“Can I change my name to Watson-Holmes?” She went on, eagerly.

_Watson-Holmes._ Now somehow _that_ seemed to roll off the tongue very well. Amelia Watson-Holmes was perfect!

“We’ll see,” he offered, and his daughter jumped up in the air, letting out another cry of joy.

“How about we finish these cookies, and I’ll talk to Sherlock soon?” He said.

She joined him at the counter again, and together they began working on the cookies again. They spent the evening sharing wedding and honeymoon ideas, and although he knew he shouldn’t get ahead of himself he just couldn’t help it.

He wanted to marry Sherlock Holmes if it was the last thing he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what do you think? Stay tuned because the next chapter is very special! Thanks so much for reading and for all the wonderful feedback!


	8. A Christmas Proposal: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have been following the Amelia series, this is the moment you've all been waiting for!

“Ham, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, carrots, salad,” Sherlock mumbled to himself, checking off his list as he read. Then he stopped. “Salad? Who includes bloody salad with their Christmas dinner? No one will eat it.”

He scratched off John’s addition of the useless salad and continued making sure he had all the appropriate ingredients to start dinner. He was just about to put on his apron (yes, he had one of those now) when John slipped into the kitchen, hands all stuffed in his pockets and eyes dancing around, like he was nervous about something.

“Starting dinner?” John asked. He was trembling. _Trembling._

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes over his lover to try to get an idea of what was wrong. John usually didn’t _tremble_ when he had bad news. The worst news he ever told Sherlock was when Mr Watson passed away a couple of years earlier, and then he had simply frozen up. He had been silent for days; he’d even stayed in bed for 24 hours straight. Sherlock hadn’t expected John to ever become that…mute…but it certainly wasn’t anything like how he was acting now.

Which meant he might actually have good news: really good news.

And after being together for nine years, there wasn’t that much good news that could be too shocking to him.

So this…this had to be big.

Then he saw it: John’s hand, moving around in his pocket, clearing holding onto something. Some sort of gift then? He had noticed there was a lack of presents under the tree for him…not that he would ever say anything about it…

“Sherlock,” John announced slowly, hesitantly, the way he always did when he prepared a speech. “We’ve been together for nearly a decade now, and these past nine and a half years…they’ve completely changed my life. They’ve completely changed who I am.”

“No they haven’t,” Sherlock protested, shaking his head. “You, John Watson, have remained nothing but perfect.”

He grabbed John’s hands and frowned when he realised how sweaty they were.

“John, what’s wrong?” He asked quietly.

Reaching up, John gently caressed Sherlock’s cheek with his hand and beamed. His eyes were starting to glisten, like he was fighting back tears.

“Nothing’s wrong,” John replied, “absolutely nothing is wrong. And I _am_ different- a good kind of different. For starters: this is the first time I’ve been in a relationship with a man and it’s the longest relationship I’ve ever been in. You’ve taught me how to trust again…you’ve taught me how to love again. My life is better because you are in it. Without you I…I don’t know how I ever would have been able to raise Amelia to be such a perfect, beautiful little girl. I’m a doctor again; I have a great relationship with my family again. I’m such a better person because of you. I’m…I’m _whole_ because of you, that’s what I am.”

“I’m a better person because of you too,” Sherlock whispered.

Clearing his throat, John took a step back, holding Sherlock’s hands in his.

“I want to be with you forever Sherlock,” John breathed, “I want to grow old with you and I…I want you to be a dad to Amelia.”

Sherlock stopped breathing.

“I…John…” he attempted, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening, “are you…proposing to me?”

A tear slipped from John’s eye, and his partner let out a soft laugh. It was a beautiful laugh.

“I know your views on marriage,” John offered, holding up a hand in his defence, “but I’ve been talking to Amelia and…and I think it’s right. I want you to be Amelia’s dad, officially. I want you to legally be her father, and if something should ever happen to me I want you take care of her. And I want you to be my partner in life. I want you to be my husband.”

His heart was pounding, and he felt lightheaded. What was he supposed to say? John was right: he _did_ know Sherlock’s views on marriage. He knew Sherlock didn’t think two people needed to be married to show they were meant to be…he knew he didn’t exactly feel too strongly about the religious aspects of it.

“I only want it if you do,” John said quickly, as though he knew what was going on in his mind.

And god did that make Sherlock feel awful. He wanted nothing more than for John to feel comfortable in this relationship. He wanted nothing more than to be with him and Amelia for the rest of their lives. And he…he…

He wanted John to be happy, and he wanted to give him the world. He wanted to be Amelia’s dad, officially. He wanted them to be a family, and he wanted everyone to know it.

Maybe he had been silly all these years, but it was obvious John wanted it and if he loved him so much that he wanted to officially propose to him then who was he to deny him? All these years he had been so secretly afraid of marriage. He had been afraid of intruding on the bond that John and Mary once had. He had been afraid Amelia wouldn’t accept him as her father.

But now…Amelia was ready for him to officially be a part of her family. And John was ready. The only problem was…him. He was the coward. He could make as many excuses as he wanted about the philosophy of marriage or about religion, but he knew there was only one real reason that was at the root of his anti-marriage beliefs:

He was afraid that he wasn’t good enough to be John’s husband. He was afraid that he would disappoint Amelia. His own parents’ marriage seemed to be absolutely perfect. They navigated their married years perfectly, flawlessly. What if he wasn’t that good at it?

“Tell me what’s going through your mind right now,” John whispered.

Swallowing nervously, Sherlock looked deep into John’s eyes as he confessed:

“What if I’m not good enough?”

A pair of lips were on his, trapping him into a powerful kiss. He nearly lost his balance, and John grabbed his arms to keep him from falling. John’s lips graced his one, two, final times before he pulled away and let their foreheads touch.

“You will always be more than good enough,” John announced. “You are everything I could ever ask for in a husband. I want this, Sherlock, I want this more than anything in the world. And Mary…she would want it to. She would want Amelia to have a family.”

“She would want you to be happy,” Sherlock realised.

John nodded and held onto his hands again.

“So what do you say?” John asked, his lips turned up in a smirk.

Sherlock’s own eyes began to water, and he found himself laughing as he smiled and replied:

“Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee?”

His lover shook ever so slightly as he reached into his pocket and his hand played with whatever it was in his pocket. But John didn’t drop down immediately; instead he turned toward the kitchen doorway.

“Amelia!” John called. “You can come out now.”

His partner beamed, and Sherlock realised the two of them must have planned this all out. Sure enough, Amelia bounced into the room, already dressed in her Christmas dress.

“Well?” Amelia demanded eagerly.

Before Sherlock knew what was happening John was dropping down on one knee. He reached into his pocket, finally revealing what he had been hiding: a jewelry box. Sherlock drew in a deep breath- as did John- and for a moment they both tried to prepare themselves for what was about to happen.

Then John began:

“You’re the entire world to me. Without you, I’d be lost. I like the person I’ve become because of our relationship. I want you to be father to my daughter. I want us to be a family. Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?”

The jewelry box opened to reveal a shiny, golden, wedding band. It was absolutely gorgeous. He remembered walking in on John’s proposal to Mary- and it hadn’t been anywhere near as perfect as this one. For him, John didn’t need a fancy restaurant or a mustache. He just needed their home and words straight from his heart.

For the first time in his life he believed in marriage, and he saw why people threw big parties to celebrate. He wanted to shout to the stars that he was John’s and John was his.

“Yes,” Sherlock finally replied. A single tear dropped from his eye. “Yes, John, I’ll marry you.”

“Oh thank god!” John muttered as he jumped to his feet and threw his arms around Sherlock, pulling him into a hug so tight they both nearly fell over. They shared a wet, sloppy, kiss before John grabbed his hand. Sherlock was shaking, _shaking_ , as the ring slipped onto his finger, and John was in tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered.

Then he turned to Amelia, the little girl who he had watched grow up: from the nappies, to her first steps, her first words, and her first day of school. The little girl would soon be interested in boys- or girls. She would begin to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, she would go to uni. They had to teach her to drive and how to cook. She was his, to teach anything he wanted.

She was his daughter.

Technically, stepdaughter.

But all the same…

“Miss Amelia,” Sherlock announced, dropping to his own knee as he held onto her shoulders. She beamed at him, her own eyes wet with tears of joy. “Many years ago I promised your mum and dad that I would vow to protect you, and I’m making that promise to you now. I will always be there for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Amelia whispered. She was clearly in shock, like she was having a hard time accepting that all of this was real.

“I love you, and I’ll do anything, _anything_ to keep you safe and happy,” Sherlock said, “and I’ll be your dad, if you’ll have me.”

Amelia giggled and wiped at her tears before she threw her arms around him and whispered:

“I love you, Dad.”

Sherlock’s heart melted, and he wanted to be able to freeze that moment forever. He got to his feet and stepped back so that he could pull John into their hug. For that moment they completely forgot about dinner, they forgot about the company that was due in a few hours, and they forgot that it was Christmas. For that moment they simply held each other, laughing and crying tears of joy as they began the journey to becoming a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever written a proposal scene before! I hope I did it justice! What do you think?


	9. The Perfect Gift

“How about this?” Mycroft asked, holding up a coral button down shirt.

Raising his eyebrows, Sherlock shook his head, surprised his brother would ever suggest such a thing.

“Not Greg’s color,” he replied.

His brother let out an exasperated sigh as he shoved the shirt back onto the rack. They were standing in the middle of an upscale men’s clothing store, surrounded by other confused shoppers who were trying to pick out last minute gifts.

“He doesn’t even need a bloody shirt,” Mycroft muttered. “Why can’t I think of anything?”

“Because nobody _needs_ anything for Christmas,” Sherlock shot bitterly as he picked up a forest green jumper and then shook his head. No, that wouldn’t work for John either. “We put way too much pressure on ourselves to come up with the perfect gift when the truth is we don’t _need_ anything. We’re all adults with jobs. We have everything we need. Christmas is about _wants_.”

“ _Some_ of us are adults with jobs,” Mycroft murmured under his breath.

“Heard that.”

His brother threw hima cheeky grin. They both stepped back and sighed as they admired the chaos that was the Saturday before Christmas.

“This won’t do,” his brother announced.

Sherlock watched as two women fought over the last navy shirt at the next table over. Surely they weren’t this desperate? Button down shirts? Ties? Surely they appreciated their lovers more than this?

“No,” Sherlock sighed in agreement, “as much as I hate to admit it, we should do better than this.”

Mycroft kicked at the umbrella he was holding and scowled at the ground.

“Gregory _just_ had a birthday,” he whined. “I got him an authentic autographed football jersey. How am I supposed to top that?”

The consulting detective stopped, feeling a bit guilty because he would have never thought of something that clever.

“For John’s birthday I got him a symphony tickets,” he admitted.

“That sounds like a nice gift,” Mycroft offered.

“He slept through it.”

The elder Holmes snorted, and Sherlock felt humiliated. How was it possible that he knew so little about the man he loved so much? Why couldn’t he think of a single bloody gift to get him for Christmas? He supposed he could always compose John another song, but he had used that card too many times already. He needed something new, something John would really appreciate.

“You know what I wish my boyfriend would get me for Christmas?” A nearby shopper suddenly chimed in. Sherlock and Mycroft looked up, surprised to find a middle-aged, exhausted looking woman speaking to them. She was begrudgingly searching through one of the tables, looking for that one perfect shirt. “A nice holiday, just me and him. I would love to have just one lovely weekend away where we could relax. Do you know what he’s getting me? Fancy lace knickers. I found the bag hidden in our closet. I swear all you men think about is sex.”

She picked up the ugliest plaid shirt from the pile and grinned.

“This will be perfect!” She announced and then muttered: “The bastard.”

Sherlock blinked as the mysterious stranger disappeared from sight.

That was odd.

But as he watched the woman fight the crowds to the counter to get the awful shirt for her thoughtless boyfriend that had no clue what she really wanted for Christmas, he had a thought. Maybe she was right- a holiday away was the perfect gift! He and John hadn’t gone on a trip together since Baskerville and, well, that hardly even counted. He could book them a nice holiday somewhere romantic, maybe even somewhere abroad. They could have a kid-free, responsibility-free, weekend.

The only thing standing in their way was a good babysitter.

He turned to his brother, wondering if Mycroft and Greg would ever be kind enough to do them the favour of watching their three year-old for a weekend. But as his eyes found his brother’s he saw that Mycroft had come to a realisation of his own.

A holiday was the perfect gift for the overworked government official and his copper of a boyfriend too.

“I thought of it first!” They both cried at the same time.

Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and stood face to face with his brother and protested:

“I’m raising a kid, Mycroft! John and I have _never_ had a weekend away together. Our entire relationship has been built around parenthood. We need to reconnect. Please? One weekend, Mycroft. Could you and Greg watch her for us?”

His brother hesitated. It was obvious he was jealous that Sherlock was trying to steal his holiday present idea, but it was also obvious that Mycroft actually seemed to understand. The government official let out a sigh and gave in.

“Fine. One weekend.”

“Thank you!” Sherlock said, beaming ear to ear. For the first time in a very long time he actually almost felt like hugging his brother. Almost. But he resisted; they were in public, after all. “Honestly, you have no idea how much this will mean to John. He needs a break.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Mycroft sighed. “I suppose I can still give Gregory a nice weekend away…as long as he and John never find out we came up with the idea together. While shopping.”

Sherlock stuck out his hand to shake on it.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm so happy you all were pleased with the proposal chapter!


	10. A Working Christmas

Sherlock might possibly consider this the most boring Christmas in Christmas history. John had an emergency call at his practise, leaving Sherlock alone with a very frustrated six year old.

“How about a Christmas movie?” Sherlock suggested. There were few things he hated more than Christmas movies, but he was that desperate. Amelia simply crossed her arms and shook her head. “Would you like to open a present?”

“I want Daddy!” Amelia cried, her little eyes watering.

Sighing, Sherlock sat back against the sofa and pulled her closer to him. They had hoped that with John opening up his own medical practise that they would never run into the problem of him working holidays, but the doctor received a frantic call from the wife of a patient who said her husband was having heart trouble but absolutely refused to go to the A&E because he trust any other doctor to help him. It was very touching- but just inconvenient timing.

Then again, there was never really any convenient time for a heart trouble, was there?

“A nice man wanted your daddy and only your daddy to help him,” Sherlock told her quietly before placing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s very, very special.”

“But why does he have to be sick on Christmas?” She complained.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow; usually Amelia was smarter than this. She was mature for her age- mature enough to know that people didn’t get to choose when they got sick. But if there’s one thing Sherlock had learned in the past year, it was that when it came to Christmas it didn’t mature how mature your child was. They would turn into- dare he say it- spoiled rotten. Christmas was a glorious time when all children had to think about was toys, toys, toys. It was like their brains just completely shut off December 1st.

He decided to settle with:

“I don’t know, sweetie.”

Amelia hugged her puppy dog stuffed animal and pouted. Sighing, Sherlock gazed at the Christmas tree, hoping for some kind of- dare he say it- Christmas miracle.

That was when his mobile rang, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw it was John phoning him.

“Hey, love,” Sherlock greeted. “Happy Christmas.”

“Yeah,” John sighed. He sounded exhausted, almost like he had completely forgotten it was Christmas. “How’s Amelia?”

Throwing a glance toward his partner’s daughter, he could only think of one word that described how she had been, and he didn’t have the heart to say it to John.

“We’re both missing you,” he replied. “How’s your patient?”

There was a long pause, which Sherlock had learned to mean ‘not good’.

“It’s going to be a rough night,” John admitted. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to make it home any time soon. I feel horrible about missing Christmas.”

Truth be told, Sherlock was missing John just as much as Amelia. He understood that John needed to save someone’s life, but secretly he wished his boyfriend could be here instead.

“You’re a great doctor, John,” Sherlock said. “We’ll make up for it one day by solving a case on Christmas.”

With a snort, John shot:

“We’re _never_ solving a case on Christmas.”

Sherlock found himself smiling for the first time that evening.

“We love you,” Sherlock said. “We’ll just have to have an extra special Christmas celebration tomorrow.”

From the long, tired, sigh John let out Sherlock had a feeling he wouldn’t be in the mood for celebrating anything tomorrow. There was a long pause as neither was quite sure what to say, but then John suddenly seemed to perk up.

“You know, Mr Williams is going to be resting for most of the night,” John announced. “I’m really just here to monitor him. I’m here with Mrs Williams, and she’s quite distraught. If you’re willing…I think it would really cheer her up if you and Amelia came by. I want to see you both so badly. You could bring those biscuits we were saving, and-“

Sherlock was already jumping up to grab his coat.

“We’ll be there!”

 

As Sherlock put into the nearly-vacant car park belonging to John’s practise he began to doubt bringing a six year-old to a place as scary as a doctor’s office. But all of his doubts went away when he saw his partner standing in the doorway. A big smile crossed John’s face at the sight of his family, and Amelia broke into a run and jumped into her dad’s arms.

“Happy Christmas sweetheart,” John said, planting a big kiss on Amelia’s cheek. “Did Father Christmas bring you anything special?”

Amelia just shrugged.

“We haven’t opened the presents.”

John threw an impressed, grateful, look toward Sherlock.

“Why don’t you two come inside?” John offered. “You brought biscuits and I made tea. And I’d like to introduce you to someone very special.”

He led them through the empty waiting room to one of the patient rooms. John knocked softly before pushing the door open, revealing a room that mimicked that of an A&E room. A woman of about seventy years of age sat in a plastic chair in the corner. Her hand held the hand of the man resting on the bed. Mr and Mrs Williams had both been patients of John’s since he first opened up his practise years ago. The couple had been married for fifty years, and the doctor had admitted many times they were some of the most genuinely sweet people he’d ever met. They were his favourite patients, and John seemed really upset to hear Mr Williams was having such bad chest pain.

“Amelia, Sherlock, this is Mrs Williams,” John said. “Her husband is very sick, and she’s had a long day waiting at his side.”

Amelia offered Mrs Williams a shy smile, like she wasn’t quite sure what to think.

“My daddy is the best doctor in all of England,” Amelia announced. “He’ll be able to help him.”

The older woman gave her a grateful smile nodded in appreciation.

“Would you like some tea and biscuits, Mrs Williams?” John asked. She simply looked down at her husband longingly. “You and I have been in here all day. I know you must be hungry.”

She looked like she wanted to do anything but eat, but nonetheless when John held out his hand to her she accepted and let them lead her to the waiting room. Sherlock turned on the lights as they helped her into the receptionist’s chair.

“Try these,” Sherlock offered, “John and Amelia made them last night.”

Mrs Williams gave them another small smile as she bit into one the of the biscuits.

“It’s lovely, dear,” she said softly to John. “I’m so sorry to make you miss Christmas with your family.”

“Oh don’t you worry about that,” John said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I tried to get him to go to the A&E,” Mrs Williams admitted to Sherlock, “but he refused. The only person he said he wanted was Dr Watson. I told him that was absurd, that we couldn’t expect Dr Watson to be available at every whim. But he said he wouldn’t go unless he went here.”

“It’s quite alright,” Sherlock said. “Amelia is right, John is the best.”

“You know…” John said, “I think I have some board games in my office. Why don’t you go find one, Amelia?”

His daughter nodded and ran off to her dad’s office in search of a game. John began pouring the tea, and Sherlock took his spot in a nearby chair.

“Forget the biscuits, frankly I’m starving,” John announced after a few awkward moments of silence. “I think there’s a Chinese place open nearby. Sherlock, want to order some takeaway?”

Sherlock looked up at him, shocked. Most Christmases he got so stressed out with all the cooking and planning that he would beg to simply eat Chinese instead. He wasn’t sure if John was just that desperate for food or if he was just deciding to be nice.

“Sure,” Sherlock said, taking out his mobile.

And that was how that night would become one of their most memorable Christmases ever: eating Chinese food while watching Amelia playing games with Mrs Williams. Eventually the older woman wanted to rest so John let her stay on the cot in the room next to her husband (there unfortunately wasn’t enough room to put it in his room).

Around nine they were worried it was too late for Amelia to be out, and John suggested they headed home.

“No!” Amelia whined. “I want to be here when Mr Williams wakes up.”

He and John exchanges glances, feeling sad that she didn’t seem to realise how bad of a situation this actually was.

“Come on, why don’t you say goodnight to him?” John said, taking her by the hand.

Amelia unwilling let him lead her back to Mr Williams’ room. The older man slept soundly as John checked his vital signs.

“Mr Williams?” Amelia called softly.

“Shh,” Sherlock warned, “he needs his rests.”

But Amelia ignored him, grabbing onto one of Mr Williams’ hands. She surprised them both by leaning forward and planting a kiss to his cheek.

“Your wife is very nice!” Amelia announced. “And she loves you very much. Please get better for her. And you should take care of your heart. And next time you should let her take you to the hospital. But my daddy’s the best, and he’ll make you feel all better. Just make sure you take all your medicine.”

John stroked her hair as she squeezed Mr Williams’ hand-

And ever so gently, Mr Williams squeezed back.

He and John shared smiles before leading Amelia back out of the room.

“He’ll be okay, right Daddy?” Amelia asked.

“Yes love,” John said as he hugged her. “He’ll require a lot of care, but he’ll be okay.”

“Can I visit them?” Amelia asked. “Mrs Williams said she wanted me to teach her how to bake those cookies!”

John chuckled as he nodded ‘yes’.

“Of course,” he replied. “Now you and Sherlock go home and get some rest, and tomorrow we’ll have a proper Christmas.”

Amelia looked around the waiting room, taking in how quiet and peaceful it was before glancing back to Mr and Mrs Williams’ rooms.

“It wasn’t too bad of a Christmas,” Amelia shrugged. “I’m glad you were there for Mr Williams.”

Swooping her up in her arms, John planted a kiss on his cheek as he said:

“Me too sweetheart, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this update on time with ten minutes to spare! Hope you enjoyed it!


	11. Sick On Christmas

John woke up to the sounds of Sherlock hacking up a lung at six in the morning.

_Happy Christmas to me_ , he thought as he rolled over to comfort his lover.

Sherlock had come down with a nasty bout of bronchitis that left him on bed rest all week. His cough had finally gotten better last night, and with the meds John was giving him they both hoped that Sherlock would be better by Christmas morning. Instead the cough seemed to have gotten worse overnight. His boyfriend was leaning over the side of the bed, coughing against his arm with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of tea in his free hand.

“God you sound awful,” John said, rubbing his hand in comforting circles on Sherlock’s back. “How’s your throat?”

“Hurts,” Sherlock mumbled, his voice so hoarse he could barely talk. He let out another round of coughs before reaching for his tea.

“I’m so sorry love,” he offered; suddenly it didn’t feel like Christmas at all. The magic was gone- it was just another day of taking care of a patient, and this patient was Sherlock. And Sherlock was one of the most stubborn patients of them all. “You should stay in bed. Maybe with some more sleep, some nice tea, and more meds-“

“No!” Sherlock cried hoarsely. “No more meds.”

“Yes, meds!” John protested. “Maybe you’ll feel better by tonight. Now, how about some toast?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock just slipped back into bed.

“All you had yesterday was soup,” John reminded him. “You need to eat, Sherlock.”

“Don’t wanna.”

John sighed; of all days he had to go through this, why Christmas? His partner began coughing again, and John’s heart melted at the sound of the pain he was in.

“I’ll spend today watching Christmas movies with Amelia,” he offered. “You stay here and rest but first, I’m bringing you toast and you _will_ eat it. And whenever you start to feel better we’ll open presents.”

“Go ahead and open them,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Nope,” John said. He planted a kiss to his own hand and then placed it gently on Sherlock’s forehead. His boyfriend looked up at him, trying to look grateful. “We’re waiting for you.”

There was a soft knock at the door. John called for Amelia to come in, and his heart fell when he saw how miserable she looked. His eight year old shuffled in the room with her hair a messy, her skin clammy, and her dressing gown wrapped tightly around herself.

“Daddy I don’t feel so good,” Amelia whined as she stood tall to let him feel her forehead.

He’d need a thermometer to prove it, but she certainly felt and acted like she had a fever.

“Oh no, sweetheart, you must have caught what Sherlock has,” John said as he ran his hand through her hair. “Why don’t you climb into our bed and I’ll bring you both some toast?”

“Enough with the toast!” Sherlock cried painfully. He erupted into coughs and collapsed back against the pillows.

“I’m not hungry,” Amelia moaned as she lay down next to Sherlock. “Am I going to have to take medicine Daddy?”

He grabbed the medical supplies he had kept on his bedside table for Sherlock and sterilized them before looking down Amelia’s mouth, throat, and ears.

“Can you cough for me sweetie?” He asked.

She let out a cough that was nearly as violent as Sherlock’s.

“Yeah, I think you’ve got it too,” John sighed. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“But it’s Christmas!” Amelia complained, her voice breaking.

“We’ll just have to celebrate later,” John said, “what’s most important is your health.”

Both Amelia and Sherlock let out rounds of coughs in response. John offered them smiles before he headed toward the kitchen to replenish their supply of tea, water, and toast. On the way in he stopped at the sight of their Christmas tree, all lit up with the presents waiting for them. He thought of how much trouble he and Sherlock went through to make sure they got everything on Amelia’s list- and more.

That’s when he remembered- a giant-sized certain stuffed Disney bear was at the top of her list! Letting her open that gift would be the perfect thing to get her to start feeling better.

As he came back through the living room with a tray he carefully set it aside to grab the bag the bear was in. When he entered the room again he was surprised to find Sherlock holding Amelia in his arms as they both rested.

“Amelia,” John called softly. “If you drink some water and eat a bite of toast I’ll let you open a present.”

Amelia lifted her head and gave him a weak smile before she reached for the water. She downed it gratefully; clearly she her throat was sorer than she let on. She reached for the toast next and literally just took a bite before whispering:

“Can I open my present now?”

He couldn’t help but to laugh at her eagerness. He knew bronchitis was no fun, and he knew it wasn’t her fault that she felt so weak she didn’t want to eat.

“Yes love,” he said as he handed her the bag.

She ripped through the paper in the bag and grinned as she pulled out the bear.

“Thank you Daddy!” She said hoarsely. Throwing her arms around him, she buried her head against his chest for a moment before she climbed back into bed. Hugging the bear, Amelia seemed a bit more at ease as she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

“Happy Christmas, Amelia,” John said. He walked over to the other side of the bed and bent down to kiss Sherlock on the top of his head. “And Happy Christmas to you too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock muttered something inaudible into the pillow and coughed.

“Yeah, you two are quarantined in here for the day,” John said.

He decided if he were going to catch their germs he probably already did, so he thought it was safe to get back into bed too. Neither Sherlock nor Amelia protested as he turned on the telly and flipped around until he found a decent Christmas movie. It was obvious that neither was interested in their toast so he grabbed it for himself. He grabbed his mobile to snatch a family photo of the three of them all passed out in the bed on Christmas day and uploaded it on Facebook.

_Quietest Christmas ever,_ he posted as his status.

He chuckled- but his laugh soon turned into coughs.

“Great,” he mumbled as he settled back down into the pillows.

And for the first time in his life, his family slept straight through Christmas.


	12. Coming Out

“He puzzled and puzzed till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. Maybe Christmas, he thought... doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps... means a little bit more!” Sherlock read to the sleeping baby in his arms.

Amelia was a year and a half, and it was the first Christmas Sherlock spent at his parent’s house since, well…the innocent. He and John slept in separate rooms in hopes of keeping their relationship from his parents, but when he heard Amelia wake up with a cry he snuck into his partner’s room and insisted he would take care of her. Sherlock took her from the crib and carried her into the living room, where he could read to her by the tree. She seemed to enjoy the story- or perhaps she was really bored by it- because it calmed her so much she went right back to sleep. He should have put her back to bed, but he enjoyed being with her so much that he couldn't help but to finish the story.

“Now there’s a sight I never thought I’d see.”

Sherlock was startled to hear the sound of his father. He looked up, and his cheeks reddened a bit as he realised his father caught him reading Dr Seuss to a baby. Nevertheless his father beamed at him as he joined him on the sofa.

“I thought I heard you quoting Dr Seuss and thought I must have been dreaming,” his dad teased. “I suppose I was not.”

“She woke up crying,” Sherlock explained, “usually reading or playing music helps. I didn’t want to keep John awake with the violin.”

He stopped short, and he knew his father noticed something odd about what he said when he raised his eyebrow.

“Well, how nice of you to think of John,” his father said.

He felt a bit bad about lying to his parents. John begged him not to tell them about their relationship because he was still ashamed that he had moved on after Mary so quickly. Sherlock knew there was no reason for John to be embarrassed about that, but his partner insisted other people wouldn’t be as understanding. He wanted his parents to know that he was, well, okay. He saw it in their eyes- the worry, about him in Mycroft. Sherlock had a feeling his parents spent every day in constant worry about how their sons were getting along with the ‘real world’. He wanted to be able to show them how human he had become, how good he was doing with Amelia and how wonderful his relationship with John was.

But he couldn’t tell anyone anything, so he kept silent.

“Can I ask you something, son?” His father asked suddenly. Sherlock looked up at him, eyes wide, wondering if he had given away something. “How long have you and John been together?”

Sherlock held Amelia close to him because he was afraid he might melt to the ground in embarrassment.

“Is it really that obvious?” He said.

“Sherlock,” his father replied with a smile. “John ‘accidentally’ grabbed your knee two different times during dinner. Both times he pulled away like he had placed his hand on a hot burner. He got you a watch for Christmas- a _really_ nice watch and you got him a jumper that goes perfectly with his eyes. Your hands brushed together during the toast and you both blushed. Oh- and I saw you two snogging in the garden.”

He was certain his face had turned bright red. He had never heard his father use the term _snogging_ in his life, especially not directed toward him. Throughout his youth he worked hard to make sure his family never found out about any of the few relationships he had, and it was humiliating to know his dad caught him making out with his boyfriend.

Then he froze.

Boyfriend.

Not only did his parents not know about a single one of his past relationships- they had no clue he was gay.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think they would accept him, he would just rather…well, okay, to be honest he was quite afraid of what they would think. They weren’t exactly conservative, and he knew they had nothing against same-sex relationships, but it was different when it was your own child, wasn’t it?

His stomach turned to knots as he realised what this moment was: it was the moment he would come out to his father.

“Don’t look so afraid,” his dad laughed. “It was always a bit obvious that everything wasn’t what it seemed with John and Mary.”

Swallowing nervously, Sherlock shot underneath his breath:

“It wasn’t like that.” He glanced down at the child in his arms a moment before raising her to his shoulder so he could hold her close. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the fresh smell of baby lotion and relished in the pure peacefulness that seemed to surround her. Then he brought her back down to his lap, bit his lip, and admitted: “It was a few months after she was born. John didn’t cheat on Mary or anything. I really don’t think he ever even thought about me, you know, like that, until that point.”

His father offered him a soft smile.

“And when did you start thinking about him like…well, you know.”

He winked, and Sherlock felt sick inside. But he knew his answer right away:

“It was when I saw John propose to her. I had always…I had always felt _something_ for him, but I wasn’t sure what. When I saw him propose to her I knew I loved him. I realised I had made a horrible mistake by never telling him how I felt. But please, Dad, it’s not like we…it's not like we...”

_Were happy she died,_ he wanted to say, but he didn’t have the heart to.

“I know, son.” His father placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “You two shouldn’t hide. There’s a reason everyone always used to tease about you being together- you two are perfect for each other.”

“Really?” Sherlock said with a small laugh.

His father nodded.

“And clearly you are brilliant with her,” his dad went on, gently stroking Amelia’s head. “You look at her like she’s…well, like she’s yours.”

“I feel that way sometimes,” he confessed. “I feel guilty about it, but I just feel this connection with her, you know? I feel like she trusts me…like she loves me. Is that possible? Babies don’t even know what love is.”

“Oh, they know.”

Sherlock eyed the sleeping baby and challenged:

“How?”

“Did she calm down at the sound of your voice reading to her?” His father asked. He nodded. “That’s how you know.”

His father’s hand rested on his shoulder again, and Sherlock couldn’t remember having this long of a conversation with him in years.

“I’m sorry we were never really close,” Sherlock said quietly. His father waved it away like it was nothing, but Sherlock could tell by the look in his eye that he was sorry too. “Thank you for accepting me.”

“Accepting you?” His father said, raising his eyebrows. “Sherlock, we will always accept you. Son…I’ve never been more proud of you than I am now.”

“Even when I gave up drugs?”

“I know you relapsed when you came back to London.”

Sherlock looked down, feeling terrible that his father knew about that.

“I can always tell when you’ve been using,” his father admitted. “And it always makes me sick inside to know you are, to know there’s nothing I can say or do to stop you. But I also know now that you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock promised. “I’m not, and I never will again. I don’t want that in my life anymore. I have John. I have Amelia.”

“You have a family.”

The consulting detective nodding; he had never thought about it that way. _A family._ His own little family.

It was the only thing he ever wanted for the rest of his life, that little family of is.

“I’m proud of you, son,” his father reiterated. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become. You’ve had your struggles, and you’ve pushed through them. Now you have this little one and a wonderful partner, and I hope you three are happy together for a very long time.”

Sherlock drew in a deep, shaky, breath as he tried not to let his emotions get the best of him.

“So it’s okay that I’m gay?” Sherlock said, just to make sure.

His father laughed.

“I don’t care what you are,” he replied, “as long as you’re happy.”

He slipped Amelia into one arm and used his free one to pull his dad into a hug. It was the first time he could remember hugging him since…since…

He tried not to think about how long ago that was as his father held him.

“Happy Christmas, son.”

“Happy Christmas, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's parents and family might have possibly been my favourite thing about series 3! I know they'd adore little Amelia :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! What did you think?


	13. 'Twas the Fight Before Christmas

Sherlock let out a long sigh as he gazed out the window to the sixteen year old girl sitting on their front steps. It was the weekend before Christmas, but this holiday season had been anything but merry. Their teenage daughter had definitely reached her rebellion stage. It started out with cutting a couple of classes, then lying about being at the library when she was really out with friends. She had even taken John’s car once- and she didn’t even have a license yet! Luckily they were able to scare the crap out of her by having one of Greg’s copper friends pull her over and threaten to arrest her.

But this weekend, she had topped everything. This weekend she went from rebellious teen to…well, he wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore. She came to them Friday night begging to be able to go to a club in London with some friends. They knew perfectly well most of these friends were older than her and many of them drank. They didn’t exactly have criminal records, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of group they preferred their daughter to hang out with. So they told her no, and she stormed into her room claiming they were the “most unfair, boring, parents on the face of the planet”.

And then she proceeded to go to London on Saturday anyway.

Amelia and John had gotten into the fight of the century after they found her. Eventually John stormed out, claiming he was going to the shops and Amelia had taken a spot on the front porch steps. Sherlock was left alone inside, wondering when everything had gone so wrong. Wasn’t she just the five year-old who would normally spend this time of year counting down the days until Father Christmas came?

As he watched her he wondered if he should give her some space or if he should say something. John had done so much screaming that he hadn’t been able to get a word in. As much as loved his husband, he knew their daughter didn’t respond well to being screamed at. She would never realise why what she did was wrong if they only screamed at her.

So he should go and say something, right?

_I’m the parent, he thought, I shouldn’t feel bad about talking to her. I did nothing wrong._

With his mind made up he opened the door and descended the steps. He plopped down next to her and they sat in silence for a few, long, moments before he finally opened his mouth.

“Please don’t say ‘we’re not angry, just disappointed’,” Amelia announced before he could say anything. She ran her hands through her hair- which now sported hideous green and red highlights, just one result from her wild night on the town. “Why can’t you just accept the fact that I’m sixteen and this is just what sixteen year-olds do?”

“What do they do?” Sherlock shot. “Lie to their parents and sneak out of the house? Make them worry for almost twenty-four hours straight?”

His daughter kicked her shoe against the snow and ran her hands through her hair again. She straightened out the strands and let out a few heavy breaths. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and he almost laughed at how John-like she looked.

“What was I supposed to say to my mates?” She challenged. “You two don’t let me do _anything_. Everyone at school thinks I’m boring and sheltered. I’m going to lose my friends if I can’t go out and do stuff.”

“First of all,” he replied, “everyone at school doesn’t have parents who are detectives and doctors. The things your father and I have seen…if most parents realised stuff like that went on every single day in their very own city they would never let their kids out of the house. If anything happened to you, Amelia…god forbid, if we lost you…”

“I know,” Amelia whispered, placing a hand on his knee. “I know. But you can’t just be afraid that I’m going to die every time I leave the house.”

Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. How could she not see what the problem was?

“You didn’t just leave the house! You left for a whole bloody night! You went to a club with people who were older than you , people who were drinking.”

“I wasn’t drinking!” Amelia exclaimed. “But I suppose you don’t care what I say. You’re going to think I’m lying anyway.”

And here they were, fighting.

So much for a truce.

He bit his lip, trying to gather his thoughts together.

“It doesn’t matter if you were drinking alcohol,” Sherlock mumbled. He stopped, realising how horrible that sounded. “Okay, it _does_ matter, but when you’re at clubs like that people take advantage of you no matter what. Someone could offer you a bloody coke and slip something into it.”

“Oh my god now you sound like Uncle Greg!”

He did sound way more like Greg than he would ever want to, but this was one subject the DCI (he had been promoted years ago) was right about.

“Do you have any idea how many times Uncle Greg and I are called into flats to investigate the bodies of young girls who were seduced just like that?”

Amelia shrugged and stayed quiet, a sure sign that she understood but didn’t want to admit she was right. After a long moment she finally said:

“Well if something like that ever happened I would be strong enough to have control. I’m not completely stupid. I would realise what was happening and phone for help.”

He wished he lived in the world of innocence his daughter lived in. Did she really think it was that easy to get out of danger? If only she knew. Secretly he wanted her to stay sheltered and unknowing forever, but he knew it was his job as her father to prepare her for the world. And that meant preparing her to deal with dangerous situations.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Sherlock said quietly. “Those drugs take over you in seconds. I know…I’ve had them used a time or two against me.”

He was mainly thinking of The Woman, and he almost laughed at the memory. It just seemed like so long ago! Little did he know at the time his partner in life would be the flatmate standing right next to him…also gawking over The Woman.

“Really?” Amelia asked, her eyes going wide.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I think your Uncle Greg actually still has that on video. Anyway, it’s not fun. And men, when they do that they…they take advantage of you. Even if they don’t drug you…I mean, what would you do if someone, you know, approached you?”

His daughter stared at him like she was wondering if he realised what he was talking about, but he decided to not doubt himself and just go with it. Maybe if he was this upfront with her she would listen to him.

“You mean approach me about sex?” Amelia asked, startled. Sherlock nodded. “I…I dunno, I’d tell them I’m not interested.”

“What if they began pushing you around?” Sherlock asked, his voice so soft it was barely audible. A light snowfall had begun, but neither of them budged. “What if they drugged you? What if there was more than one of them? What if you and one of your mates met a couple of guys who seemed nice and charming, and you let them take you back to their place? What if it turned out they weren’t so nice and charming?”

“I’d never do that,” his daughter insisted, her voice like stone, “and neither would any of my mates.”

“But it always happens so quickly,” he said. “Especially when you are drinking. Especially when other people pressure you.”

“I would never do that,” Amelia said again. She looked like she might cry, and Sherlock felt awful, but for the first time in months he felt like he’d finally gotten through to her. “Trust me, Dad. All I wanted was a night out with my mates in London. We all had a friend to stay with- a friend we know, a friend who’s our age, who was completely sober. I had everything under control.”

He shook his head, refusing to be beat on this.

“We told you that you couldn’t go and you snuck out anyway. You violated our trust.”

“ _You_ sent Uncle Mycroft after me in a helicopter!”

His lips turned up in a sly grin at that one. He didn’t think his brother had piloted an airplane since the innocent at Christmas so many years ago, but Mycroft hadn’t hesitated when he asked for his help in finding Amelia. Though they spent a good bulk of the time she was going pacing the house in panic, when she had officially been missing for over six hours they phone Greg. When she had been missing for twelve hours Greg phone Mycroft at work. At first they just hoped she had rebelled and snuck out to go to a friend’s house…but when her friends’ parents said they hadn’t seen her they all became sick inside.

But in all honesty, the helicopter might have been a bit over the top.

Just a bit.

Amelia grabbed his shoulder to make him face her, clearly not finished.

“Uncle Greg interrogated my mate for hours! Dad…just admit it: you two overreacted.”

“We reacted like parents.”

“You should have trust me.”

“We can’t trust you!” They both stopped, and she looked genuinely hurt. His voice fell as he confessed: “How can we trust you when you lie to us? When you sneak out? We raised you better than this, Amelia.”

His daughter’s head fell into her arms, and he was startled when she let out a small sob. Her shoulders began to shake, and Sherlock slipped an arm around her. The snow was falling heavily now and he shivered, but they still didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I’m sorry. It was stupid. I just…I really just wanted to go, and I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. My friends didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. I just…I want you to trust me again. Please, Dad.”

She lifted her head up long enough to throw herself at him and pull him into a hug. He held her as she sobbed into his shoulder, and he tried his best to not gloat to himself. He had finally gotten through to her! He had gotten her to admit she was wrong! This was progress. This was good parenting. He deserved a bloody gold star.

“It’s okay love,” Sherlock whispered. “We all make mistakes. We all do stupid stuff when we’re young. I did far stupider stuff than you’ve ever done. I just…I suppose I just worry…I just never want you to give into the things I gave into.”

“I won’t,” his daughter whispered. “I love you two too much. I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I just…I want things to be okay again. I want things to be normal.”

She lifted her face and allowed him to wipe away her few remaining tears.

“Me too,” he said. “No more of this fighting stuff, yeah?”

Amelia nodded.

“No more fighting,” she agreed. “No more sneaking out. Those clubs were over-priced anyway.”

Sherlock snorted; of course of all things _that’s_ what Amelia took out of this.

“Ah yes, another downside of partying…the money.”

“Right…”

They shared a laugh, and he felt like they had connected more at that moment than they had in ages. He looked up at the empty space in the street, knowing John would return from his trip to the shops soon.

“You know your dad’s about to come back,” Sherlock said. “How about we hide in the bushes and pelt him with snowballs?”

His daughter burst out laughing, and she didn’t argue as he held out his hand and helped her stand up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit I mainly love writing kid!Amelia, but it's really fascinating to think about how Sherlock and John would act with a teenager. You will see more teenage!Amelia before the story is over with! Thanks for reading! I hope you are enjoying this!


	14. Mycroft Vs. Rudolph

“Uncle Mycroft?” Four year-old Amelia asked.

“Yes?”

John looked up from his seat and smirked. Never in a million years would he have thought he would ever see Mycroft colouring in a colouring book, but since Sherlock stepped into his role of “stepfather” the elder Holmes brother followed him in becoming “uncle”. That meant babysitting gigs, school plays, birthday parties- and sitting around with colouring books while they all waited for Sherlock to get home.

“What’s your favourite Christmas movie?”

The government official’s mouth fell open in surprise, and he looked to John for help. John simply shrugged, unsure of what to do. Surely Mycroft had seen a Christmas movie before? Yet he just sat there like a deer in the headlights. Amelia glanced up at Mycroft, awaiting his answer.

“Oh I can’t pick just one,” Mycroft finally replied.

Amelia giggled and challenged:

“Of course you can!”

Mycroft froze, clearly horrified that a five year-old was about to oust him for never having seen a Christmas movie before. But before he had the chance to say anything, Amelia went on:

“My favourite is _Elf_!” Amelia announced. “Or maybe _Dr Seuss_. Or _Rudolph_!”

“Ohhh Rudolph!” Mycroft chimed in, pretending like he totally knew what she was talking about. IT seemed like Amelia had finally referenced something he had actually at least heard of before. “The red nose…”

That was apparently all Mycroft knew about Rudolph because he stopped. He was only saved by Amelia, who began to sing:

“Reindeer! He had a very shiny nose! And if you ever saw him…” She stopped, trying to remember the words.

“You would even say it glows,” John sang for her.

His cheeks turned red at the sound of his own singing voice, and Mycroft looked between the two of them like they were speaking a different language. Amelia giggled; there was a reason he usually he left all the singing to Sherlock.

“All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names!” Amelia sang. “They never let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games!”

“That seems mean,” Mycroft cut in, frowning as he continued to colour his Christmas tree colouring book page.

“Well that’s the point, silly,” Amelia said.

“He has a red nose and so he’s not allowed to play?” Mycroft asked. He seemed to be forgetting that he was supposed to be pretending like he knew all this; instead he seemed legitimately confused. John had to fight back a laugh. “What if he just has a cold or something?”

“He doesn’t!” Amelia insisted. “He has a red nose because he has a red nose, and everyone is mean to him except Santa. And Santa says… _Rudolph with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight!_ ”

“And then all the reindeer loved him, and they shouted out with glee: Rudolph the red nose reindeer, you’ll go down in history,” John finished, except he spoke it like it was a statement of fact instead of a song.

Mycroft looked like he thought he’d slipped into an alternate universe.

“That makes no sense at all,” Mycroft announced. “How the bloody-“

John cleared his throat, warning him to not swear in front of the kid.

“How does a nose glide a sleigh?!” His partner’s brother demanded.

Shrugging, Amelia leaned over the table and whispered to him:

“It’s magic!”

Eyes going wide, Mycroft looked over to John with this baffled gaze, like he was truly questioning the things he was telling his child. Amelia scribbled a few more lines in her colouring book before she held up the page and proudly announced:

“Done!”

He couldn’t help but to giggle as his daughter showed off her drawing. She had coloured in Christmas presents all sorts of multiple shades of colours that didn’t match. She wasn’t exactly a master of colouring inside the lines yet, but she was clever enough to “sign” her own name beside the drawing.

“That is beautiful Amelia!” John proclaimed. “Do you mind if I hang it on the fridge?”

Nodding, Amelia anxiously watched as he carefully tore out the picture and walked over to the kitchen. Mycroft went after him, his chest stuck out a bit as he stood tall and proud. He presented John with a perfectly coloured in Christmas tree, complete with beautiful forest green and light green shading, Christmas lights, and even some ornaments that he drew in himself.

For a moment John was a bit stunned: who knew _the_ British government had such impressive colouring skills?

“Aren’t you going to sign your name on it?” John challenged.

Mycroft grabbed a pen and scribbled a very professional-looking signature beside his tree. Then he carefully tore the picture out and handed it to John to go up on the fridge. After he did he quickly whipped out his mobile to send a text. It didn’t take long for Mycroft to appear over his shoulder and demand:

“What are you doing?”

A sly grin spread across John’s face as he replied:

“I’m telling Greg you’ve never watched any Christmas movies.”

He hit “send” before Mycroft could protest, leaving the elder Holmes standing there with his mouth agape and his hands on his hips.

Soon after Greg texted him back, promising him that by New Years’ Mycroft would have seen every Christmas movie known to man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tries to be the fun uncle, really!
> 
> I'm glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter! Hope you liked this one too! Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	15. Thank You For Not Smoking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have followed this series, you know that Amelia's a bit more of a rebellious teen than Sherlock and John would have liked her to be.

“Okay Amelia,” John said; he drew in a deep breath as he stole a glance toward his husband. He was a bit nervous about what they were going to try to pull off, but it was the last idea they had to put a stop to this. “Why don’t you go through your stocking first?”

Their seventeen year-old daughter glanced between them, clearly suspicious, but nevertheless she reached her hand down into her Christmas stocking…and froze. Her eyes turned to fire as she pulled her arm away, revealing that she had received-

“Cigarettes?!”

“Hey!” Sherlock exclaimed, grinning . “Father Christmas knew exactly what you wanted!”

A few months ago they’d discovered cigarettes in Amelia’s schoolbag. It confirmed their worst fears after weeks of the house smelling oddly of smoke and their daughter acting more on edge than usual. At first John had feared Sherlock had picked up smoking again (igniting a massive fight between them), but when they discovered that it was, in fact, their daughter who was the cause of the smell they were so stunned and hurt they didn’t know what to do. They tried talking to her, they tried yelling at her, they tried grounding her- John had even introduced her to a few COPD patients who certainly wished they had never started smoking. But nothing worked.

So then Sherlock thought of an idea: pretend like they supported her.

If they supposedly supported her, he claimed, it would only piss her off and she would stop. According to Sherlock teenagers mainly began to smoke to “fit in” and to “rebel” against their parents so in theory, if Amelia thought they accepted her habit she wouldn’t have a need to continue it.

John thought he was absolutely mad, but it was the last idea they had.

Amelia simply stared at the cigarettes in her hands in disgust as she shot:

“What the bloody hell are you two playing at?”

Shrugging innocently, John replied:

“We decided that if you really have made your mind up about wanting to smoke then we shouldn’t stop you. You’re our daughter, and we trust that we have raised you well enough to make the right decisions. So if you truly thinking smoking is the right decision for you, we will support you.”

“And we know your savings are low so we thought we’d chip in!” Sherlock chimed in coolly.

Their daughter just blinked, looking as though she didn’t know if she wanted to kill them or just melt to the ground. The room filled with silence for another few minutes, and John realised he really wasn’t sure what to say next.

So he cleared his throat and went along with the next part of the plan.

“So, Sherlock, want to open your stocking too?” John asked.

Grinning from ear to ear, Sherlock tore into his stocking like a kid and pulled out his hand to reveal- his own box of cigarettes.

“Okay, what is going on?!” Amelia exclaimed. “This isn’t funny!”

“Hey, thanks!” Sherlock said, ignoring her as he gave John a quick kiss on the lips.

“I decided that if it was okay for you to smoke then there was no reason to keep Sherlock from smoking anymore,” John explained.

Eyes going wide, Amelia cried:

“But he hasn’t smoked since before I was born! Aren’t his lungs going to explode or something?”

“Nah,” Sherlock shrugged. “John, have a light?”

“Yup,” John said, tossing him a lighter.

“In the house?!” Amelia demanded. “You’re letting him smoke in the house?”

“Why not?” John challenged.

He held his breath as Sherlock lit up and brought a cigarette to his lips for the first time in almost twenty years. His husband looked like he wanted to die at the first inhalation of smoke, but he forced himself to play along and pretend like he was enjoying it.

“So that’s it, then?” Amelia said. “That’s the big Christmas surprise this year? Cigarettes?”

John couldn’t help but to cough a little as the smell of smoke filled the house, and for the first time he wondered how were they going to explain to Mycroft and Greg why their house smelt of cigarette smoke.

“Aren’t you going to open your stocking too?” Sherlock asked, his voice a bit strained.

“Right,” John nodded.

Just as planned, he pulled out his own cigarettes that “Father Christmas” gave him.

“Dad!” Amelia cried in horror. “You can’t start smoking now! You’re like…you’re too old!”

With a laugh, John just tore into the pack.

“If everyone else in the family is doing it, why shouldn’t I?” He pointed out.

He motioned for Sherlock to give him a light. Amelia watched, terrified, but when she realised he was really about to do it she exclaimed:

“Stop!”

John froze mid-air.

“I get it, alright?” Amelia confessed, her eyes watering with tears as she crossed her arms around her chest. “Smoking isn’t cool. I’m sorry I ever started. It’s just…once I did it was so hard to quit.”

“I know,” Sherlock said as he put out his cigarette in a cup of water. “I know, Amelia. Believe me, I do. I fought for years before I could quit smoking completely.”

“And I know you really only did because of me,” Amelia whispered.

Sherlock nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia breathed. “You two have made your point. I shouldn’t smoke, I just shouldn’t, no matter how hard it is to quit…or how much my mates want me to.”

“True friends should never want you to smoke,” John pointed out.

But Amelia just rolled her eyes, like he was being overdramatic.

“Why couldn’t you talk to us about this before?” Sherlock asked, remaining surprisingly calm.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Amelia let out an exasperated sigh.

“I didn’t know what to do! My friends want me to smoke, they want me to drink. They want me to stay out past my curfew. They think it’s lame when I study or talk about uni. I know they’re not good for me, but at the same time…they’re my best mates. They’re all I have.”

“Luckily you will soon be out of school,” John said, “and they will be working at a take-away place while you’re in uni.”

“Yeah,” Amelia agreed with a small smile. “You’re probably right.”

John wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist; he couldn’t have been more grateful that he got to call Sherlock his best friend. His husband. His partner in life. He wasn’t quite sure who he’d be without him, and he couldn’t wait until Amelia found people like that to go through life with.

“You’re not really going to start smoking again, are you?” Amelia asked Sherlock.

Laughing, Sherlock shook his head.

“No,” he assured her.

“And you’re not going to start?” She asked John.

John shook his head too.

“Good,” she announced. She looked around the living room; she almost looked like she had forgotten it was Christmas. “So now that that awkward less of the day is done with…can we get on with the real presents?”

“Only if you promise us you’ll never smoke again,” John said holding out his hand.

Taking in a deep breath, Amelia stared at his hand like she wasn’t quite sure if she could promise him that. But she must have realised she had no choice but to do so; she knew she had no choice but to make the right decision.

And she shook on it.

“I promise,” she whispered.

She walked over to the Christmas tree in silence, and John turned to his husband to check in on him.

“You okay?” John asked.

Sherlock let out a raspy round of coughs and shook his head.

“For god’s sake, how did I ever smoke every day?!”

John decided not to contemplate that as he placed a comforting hand on Sherlock’s back as he led him over to the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! What do you think of Amelia's rebellious years? Don't worry, she really does start to see reason :)


	16. War Is Over

_All he could hear was the sound of bullets popping around him. His chest felt so tight he was afraid his heart had stopped. His head whipped around, his eyes desperately searching for the fallen comrade he was sent out to help. Enemy fire drew closer, and he knew he couldn’t linger longer. He had to hide…_

_“John!”_

_All he could hear was the final cry before he was suddenly on the ground, clutching his shoulder._

_The worst pain he had ever felt in his life. Pain ripped through him, searing through his veins. Blood spurting everywhere, too quickly._

_What happened?_

_“John!”_

Jerking awake, John gasped for breath as he bolted upright. His face was wet with tears he had apparently cried in his sleep. His body was drenched in sweat. His chest was tight- too tight- and he felt like he couldn’t get a good breath.

John looked to Sherlock’s side of the bed, hoping he didn’t wake his partner up. Instead he was surprised to find the bed empty. His stomach turned to knots; it wasn’t like Sherlock to disappear in the middle of the night. Why did he have to disappear now, of all times?

That’s when he heard the cries of his two year-old, and he understood.

“Daddy!” Amelia screamed from the hall. “Daddy! Daddy!”

Sherlock burst into the room with the frantic Amelia in his arms. Even as Sherlock held her, whispering that everything was already, his daughter continued to wail and reached out for him.

“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” John asked as Sherlock passed her off to him.

The little girl simply sobbed as she buried her head into his chest. He stroked her long, blonde, hair as he murmured that everything was alright.

“She said she had a bad dream,” Sherlock explained as he sat on the bed next to him.

“There’s a lot of that going around,” John sighed.

That’s when Sherlock noticed the state he was in, and his partner reached up to brush a hand across his tear-stained cheek.

“The war?” Sherlock asked quietly.

He nodded.

Since Amelia came along dreams about the war had become few and far between, and they rarely bothered him enough to wake him up like this. Instead he usually had nightmares about losing Amelia or someone trying to take her away. In one frequent dream he walked around London for hours with his bag full of Amelia’s nappies and spare clothes in search for her…only to find her with Mrs Hudson in Baker Street. Lately, his dreams about the war were vague, and he usually just awoke with a sour taste in his mouth and a feeling of confusion.

So having this vivid of a war nightmare was a shock to his system.

He held his daughter tightly, breathing in her warmth and rocking her until her crying turned into soft sniffles.

“Want to sleep with us tonight?” John asked.

Amelia nodded and climbed into bed next to him. Sherlock got in on the other side, and they both watched as his daughter wrapped her arms around her father and let herself fall back to sleep. It wasn’t until John knew she was asleep again that he spoke up.

“It was one of my most vivid war dreams in ages,” he admitted. “It was…awful. It was like I was reliving everything all over again.”

Subconsciously he raised his hand to the shoulder that had been injured and rubbed it. He knew if it was sore it was only because he slept on it wrong, but it was still an uncomfortable coincidence.

“It must have been triggered by inviting the Major to Christmas,” John sighed. He offered Sherlock a small smile as their eyes met. “Thanks again for letting me do that.”

“It’s nothing,” Sherlock said quietly as he gazed at him through the dark. “You two haven’t seen each other since the wedding. He needs to meet Amelia.”

“Yes he does,” John said as he smiled down at his daughter.

“I just hate that it’s bringing up bad memories for you,” Sherlock murmured.

Reaching up, Sherlock placed a comforting hand on the shoulder John was rubbing. He had to admit, it did help feeling Sherlock’s hand there instead.

“I’ll always have those memories,” John whispered. “But now when I think about it I just think…what if I had died, and I never got to have Amelia? What if I never got to meet you?”

“A world without John Watson,” Sherlock mused. “That’s a frightening concept. Well, for starters, the cabbie would have killed me.”

They both let out a nervous laugh, even though they knew he was right. For a moment they were both quiet, until John finally came to a realisation:

“I suppose…I suppose I was meant to survive that war, just for this reason. So I could have Amelia and fall in love with you. But to this day I still think about my mates that didn’t make it. I think about the Major, living alone, isolated from the world.”

“It’s not fair,” Sherlock agreed. Their hands found each other’s, and Sherlock squeezed his palm. “But you’re mine now, and for that I am grateful. Your mates would have wanted you to live the best life you could- to be the best father you could.”

“That’s true,” John said; he snorted. “God how they’d laugh if they saw me trying to raise a kid.”

“I bet they’d be proud.”

“Yeah,” he replied softly, “they probably would be.”

Sherlock cupped his cheek with his face. John wasn’t sure how he was ever going to get to sleep now; the only thing that relaxed him was feeling his daughter’s chest slowly rise up and down against him.

“Hey, do you think the Major would be willing to watch her while we finish our Christmas shopping?” Sherlock asked.

They both paused for a moment before they burst out laughing at the very thought of Major Sholto trying to take command over a two year-old.

“Maybe we should just finish shopping online,” John suggested. He brushed a hand through Amelia’s hair and smiled. After seeing his daughter so upset and scared it was relieving to see her sleep so peacefully. “I wonder what she has nightmares about?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Those weird cartoon people she watches?” He suggested. “Winnie the Pooh getting stuck in the honey tree again? Father Christmas forgetting what house she lives in?”

“Certainly not dreams about wars and losing their daughters and the future and all the things that could go wrong…”

“John,” Sherlock warned, giving his shoulder a squeeze again. “You’re a brilliant father.”

A soft, grateful, smile crossed John’s face. He knew he was being silly, but the nightmares were always just so real. So possible.

“Come on, soldier,” Sherlock murmured. “How about we try to get some sleep? We've got Christmas decorating to do tomorrow.”

Nodding, John pretended to settle back into the pillows and drift away to sleep.

And beside him, Sherlock did the exact same thing.

Together they stayed awake, eyes closed as Amelia slept between them, and worried about all the things that could go wrong.

It would secretly become a tradition of theirs, as parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this a long chapter and include Sholto, but I just didn't have enough time to write it today. I'll put the next part up tomorrow! Thanks for reading! I'm glad you guys are enjoying it!


	17. (If You Want It)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about missing yesterday's update! In truth I really needed to devote some time to my WIP Not Just Biology and ended up working on that all night. I'll try to make up for it and give you an extra update soon!
> 
> Trigger Warning: depression

On the day the Major was due to arrive for the Christmas holiday John found himself running around like a teenage girl who was bringing her boyfriend home to meet her parents for the first time. Except instead of bringing his boyfriend home, he was bringing Major Sholto home. It was the first time his old friend was going to meet Amelia, and John wanted nothing more than to prove to the Major how good of a father he had become.

He wasn’t quite sure why it was so important to him to impress the Major. Back when John worked with him in the army he was determine to impress the Major with his skills and work ethic. He had never had someone to look up to like the Major. Sholto took him under his wing, and there wasn’t enough John could do to repay him.

When the doorbell rang his heart leapt. Amelia looked over to him from where she sat on the sofa, all dressed in her Christmas outfit, like she was questioning rather or not he was ready for this.

“Remember what we talked about,” John told he as he headed to the door, although he knew she couldn’t really understand a word he was saying. “Best behaviour.”

Taking a deep breath, John threw open the door and found himself face to face with his friend for the first time in over two years.

“Captain,” Sholto greeted.

John saluted him and replied:

“Major. Welcome to my home.”

Sholto glanced around the house and nodded, giving it his stamp of approval.

“Would you like to come in?” John asked.

“Yes.”

The reply lacked the confidence the Major usually held, and as they stepped through the front door and his friend’s eyes landed on those of his daughter’s John realised that Sholto was actually nervous to meet her.

“Hello there,” Sholto said, awkwardly waving to the two year-old.

Amelia just studied him and then turned to John, confused.

“Believe it or not she doesn’t meet many strangers,” John explained. “We have a close group of family and friends, but with me running the practise now and Sherlock working cases we don’t get out too much.”

“Well thank you for inviting me in,” Sholto offered as he took a seat on the sofa. He turned to Amelia, met her eye, and held out her hand. “Major James Sholto.”

The two year-old just looked up to John again; she was clearly completely lost. John couldn’t help but to laugh. He knew the Major was trying to be cute, but of course Amelia wouldn’t understand.

“You can call me James,” the Major teased. Amelia just blinked.

“Sher?” Amelia asked instead, looking to John.

His cheeks turned red in embarrassment as he realised Amelia was more interested in knowing where Sherlock was than meeting his friends.

“Sher will be home soon,” John promised.

He sat down next to her and planted a kiss to the top of her head. John wrapped his arm around her, hoping it would help her feel more comfortable around the Major.

“This is Daddy’s friend,” he explained. “We worked together a long time ago.”

“Daddy’s friend?” Amelia asked, eyeing the Major curiously.

“She says that like she’s surprised I have other friends,” John teased. “James fought with me in the war.”

The little girl turned to the Major with a twinkle in her eye, like she actually comprehended him and it impressed her.

“Desert with Daddy?"

With a smile, John nodded. He had told Amelia many stories about the war before- the impressive ones where he and his mates were heroes, of course. Not the one where he got shot and discharged. She adored those stores, and her entire face lit up when she realised Sholto was a soldier to.

“Sol-der!” Amelia cried, clapping.

“Yes,” the Major replied, beaming. “Yes, I was a soldier along with your daddy.”

“She loves war stories,” John explained. “I’m not sure why, but that’s all she wants to hear at bedtime some nights.”

“Of course she loves hearing about it,” Sholto said. Amelia grabbed his hand, and he wrapped his fingers around it. “Her dad’s a hero.”

John looked away and bit his lip, determined to not show how much it overwhelmed him to hear the Major say that.

“You know it’s funny…” John began, carefully choosing his words. “Amelia and I have both been having bad dreams lately.”

“What could someone so sweet and young have bad dreams about?” Sholto asked as he stroked her hair. Amelia grinned at him before sticking her thumb into her mouth.

“I don’t have the faintest idea,” he confessed. “I think she doesn’t remember her dreams. She just wakes up feeling scared because of them.”

Major Sholto nodded, at least pretending like he understood. Suddenly Amelia did something completely unexpected- she threw her arms around the Major’s neck and hugged him tightly.

“It's good to meet you too,” Sholto laughed, patting her on the back. “Want to sit in my lap?”

She climbed on top of him to sit in his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her, making sure she was secure.

“And what do you have nightmares about?” Sholto asked.

John let out a shaky breath and raised his hand to his forehead. A headache was coming on- something else he had been having a lot of lately.

“The war,” he admitted.

“War,” Amelia echoed.

“Well you’re not alone in that,” Sholto sighed.

“You still have them too?”

“Oh yes.” Sholto glanced down at the little girl sitting in his lap and gave her an apologetic smile, like he was sorry they had to talk about this. John was sorry- he was sorry these nightmares were still such a problem after all these years. “They’re usually the same. Sometimes they’re vague; I’m just walking around a battlefield feeling…”

“Terrified?” John offered, knowing the Major would never use such a word.

Silently, the Major nodded.

“Yeah, I get those too,” John confessed.

“It’s the curse of a soldier,” Sholto explained. “The nightmares, the flashbacks.”

“Yeah.”

Amelia looked between the two of them, as though wondering why they were so depressed.

“Match?” Amelia asked innocently, out of the blue. 

Sholto studied him, amused, as he awaited explanation.

“Greg’s been watching football matches with her when he babysits,” he explained. “She’s become obsessed with it.”

“Do you like football?” Sholto asked Amelia. The little girl nodded. “I love football too.”

“Really?” She squealed.

He nodded.

“James and I used to talk about football all the time, during the war,” John told her.

“Play?” Amelia questioned.

Sholto laughed.

“No so much anymore,” he admitted.

Leaning back against the sofa, John massaged his temples and let out a soft groan at the relief. His headache seemed to have gotten worse in the past few minutes, even though he had been relaxed. Maybe it was because in the back of his mind he was making list of everything that still needed to be done before Christmas. He and Sherlock had hardly done any shopping, he hadn’t made his menu for Christmas dinner, and he hadn’t worked on his schedule for the holidays. Sherlock was supposed to be here to help him manage everything while Sholto was in town- so where the bloody hell was he?

“Headache?” Sholto asked. John gave a small nod in reply. His daughter crawled out of the Major’s lap and onto his so she could wrap his arms around his neck and plant a kiss to his forehead. She never seemed to miss a beat, and it always made him feel better to know she felt bad when he didn't feel well. 

“A kiss to make it feel better,” John grinned. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Amelia looked over to Sholto and leaned her head against John.

“Can I ask you a question, John?” Sholto asked. He nodded again, and his friend went on: “Have you been taking care of yourself? Frankly, Doctor, you seem…tired. Almost a bit run-down.”

Holding Amelia close, John let out a sigh as he secretly admitted that Sholto was exactly right. Lately he had been far more tired than he could ever remember being in his life- but not without reason.

“I’m a single father,” John sighed. “I’m working full-time in medicine again. I…I cook, I clean, I play, I teach, I…babysit Sherlock.”

He snorted at his own joke, but the Major seemed more concern than amused.

“Do you know what you need?” He asked. John shook his head. “A break.”

With a hollow laugh, John replied:

“I’m Dad. I don’t get a break.”

“When was the last time you and Sherlock had a night out?” The Major questioned.

John blinked. He honestly didn’t have a clue. There was one time they went back to Angelo’s, for nostalgia reasons, while Mrs Hudson babysat but that was all. Usually they got babysitters when both he and Sherlock had to work; they never bothered to get one just so they could go out.

“That settles it then,” Sholto said, placing a hand on John’s shoulder. “How about to night I watch the little one while you and Sherlock go out to dinner?”

Swallowing nervously, John tried to think of a polite way to say no. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a night out with Sherlock…deep down, he was nervous about leaving his daughter with someone who wasn’t used to watching kids. Sure he trusted the Major with his life, but the guy wasn’t used to watching two year-olds.

He also felt guilty just for even thinking of asking his friend to babysit when Sholto came to see _him_.

“That’s really nice of you, but I can’t ask you to do that,” John said.

“No, I insist!”

“No, really,” John sighed. Then he had an idea. Mrs Hudson had really enjoyed watching Amelia that time they went to Angelo’s. And a night in London sounded pretty amazing right now. “You know…I could ask Mrs Hudson to babysit, and me, you, and Sherlock can go out. Amelia, would you like to go to Mrs Hudson’s tomorrow night?”

“Yay!” Amelia exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement.

“I’ll phone her,” John offered. “As for tonight…is pizza okay? I know it’s not really your thing, but I’ve been swamped and haven’t had the chance to do the shopping.”

“I haven’t had a good pizza in ages,” Sholto admitted. “Pizza sounds lovely.”

“Excellent.”

“Pizza!” Amelia cried in approval.

 

The next evening John found himself back in his old favourite pub for the first time in years. Greg had joined him, Sholto, and Sherlock for a pint, and it was one of the most relaxed he’d felt in ages. Mrs Hudson had been more than willing to babysit, and even Sherlock had admitted he had been wanting a night out.

“To family,” Sholto said, raising his second drink.

“To family,” they all echoed.

John breathed in the smell of lager, enjoying all the scents of the pub, before taking a sip. He rarely drank anymore, and he was going to enjoy tonight.

“Well John, I must say, I’m impressed,” Sholto admitted. “Amelia is adorable. She looks just like you too.”

“John is convinced she looks like Mary,” Sherlock said.

A pang of sadness hit him as an image of Mary came to mind. He shook the image away as quickly as possible and took another sip of his lager.

“She’s the spitting image of you, John,” the Major insisted.

“Cheers to that,” Greg said, raising his glass. He took a long sip before he turned to John. “So what is Amelia getting for Christmas?”

Grinning from ear to ear, John let out a laugh as he admitted:

“Actually, Sherlock and I found this perfect kids football play set. We thought it would be perfect for her new-found love of football. I’m even thinking of signing her up for a kid’s league next autumn.”

“Excellent!” Greg exclaimed, tilting his glass toward him. “I’ll make her into a footballer yet. Hey, maybe I can even coach a league.”

“Now you’re getting carried away,” Sherlock mumbled.

“We’ll have to teach you how to play too,” Greg said, slapping Sherlock on his back.

“That I’d like to see,” John snorted.

They fell silent for a moment, and soon John realised that Sholto was gazing around the pub, as though he felt out of place.

“Thanks again for coming to visit us, James,” John said. “Amelia really likes you.”

Placing a hand on John’s shoulder, Sholto replied:

“Thank you for inviting me. I must admit, it’s nice having someone to spend the holidays with.”

“Cheers to that,” Greg announced. They all clung their glasses together again and drank to that. “It’s funny isn’t it, how much we’ve all changed since the last time we were all together?”

The Major diverted his eyes to the table, and he began to worry something was going on that he wasn’t telling him.

“I need some air,” John said as he stood up. “Care to join me, Major?”

Nodding, his friend joined him as he made his way through the crowd of patrons and out the door. It was a bit chilly, and John immediately wrapped his coat around himself tightly.

“James…the moment you walked into the house you knew something was off with me. I wanted to ask you the same: is everything okay? You just seem a bit off, that’s all.”

His mate hesitated as he watched the people rushing about on the streets, running in and out of shops as they finished up their shopping. John’s chest tightened as he realised something really _was_ wrong.

“Can I tell you something in confidence, Doctor?” Sholto asked. John raised his eyebrows at the use of ‘Doctor’.

“Of course,” John offered.

“I…I hate having to admit this, but it’s getting out of hand,” Sholto sighed. “The truth is, John, I haven’t felt like myself lately. Those nightmares you have been talking about, those headaches? I get them too. Stress was the first thing I thought of so I made cuts to my responsibilities and schedule. That didn’t help. I began to feel tired all the time, and a bit weak. I started having more flashbacks about the war again, and…I haven’t been able to get myself to go out much. Honestly, it took all my strength just to come out here. I’ve been telling myself it’s nothing- maybe just a change in the weather, or maybe I just needed a change of scenery. But my appetite has changed, I can hardly eat.”

Frowning, John mentally ran a checklist of everything those symptoms could signal. The list was quite massive- everything from, as the Major suggested, effects of the season changing to early signs of critical illnesses. His friend seemed physically fine, and that brought him some ease, but he had seen enough patients to know that didn’t always mean everything was okay.

“You should come down to the practise tomorrow,” John said, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “When was the last time you had a physical?”

“I don’t need one,” the Major said quietly. “I think I know what’s wrong. I realised it the moment I stepped into your home and saw how happy you are now with your daughter and with your relationship with Sherlock. John I’ve, I’ve tried moving past the war but I just can’t. Sometimes I worry I’m meant to live the rest of my life feeling guilty for those lives we couldn’t say. What I’m trying to say is…I’m depressed, John.”

He blinked, shocked. The Major usually wasn’t a man of so many words, and he remembered his friend had had more drinks that he did. He was certain it was the alcohol making him confess, and if this was true he felt horrible about dragging him out to a pub. The pub was the last thing the Major needed right now.

“I’m sorry,” Sholto sighed. “I know it’s not in the nature of our friendship to be so emotional, but I’ve tried secret sessions with highly trained therapist and nothing has worked. You’re the best doctor I know, and one of the best men I’ve ever met. I…I need your help, John. I want to change.”

Deep down that he felt honoured that the Major trust him enough to come to him with this. As close as they were on the battlefield, John hadn’t thought the Major still valued their friendship _this_ much post-war. One thing was for sure, there was no way he was going to turn him down. His friend was entrusting his health- his happiness- with him, and he would do everything in his power to show him that his life was worth living.

“You know it’s a new year soon,” John began. “There’s no better time to try to find happiness and meaning. I’ll help you, James, of course I will. But please know that there are dozens, hell- maybe even closer to hundreds- of men out there who owe their lives to you. I know I do. If you were there for me I would have never made it out of that war. You know, I think what bothered me the most after coming home was accepting that the war really was over for me. There was no way I could go back. It’s hard to accept, when fighting’s still going on, when lives need to be saved. But the war is over now, Major. I think it’s time you and I begin to accept it.”

Sholto offered him a small smile, and suddenly John was grateful that there was someone else who understood the nightmares and flashbacks he still found himself having. He was grateful the Major was here for the holidays; he couldn’t stand the thought of his friend staying at home, miserable and guilt-ridden.

“We’ll talk more about it, yeah?” John offered. “Whenever you need to. And if you want, if you’re comfortable with it, I can give you something to help you sleep and to help you make it through. You don’t have to suffer. Your health shouldn’t suffer. You deserve to move on just as much as any of us.”

Nearby a car backfired, and the Major brought a hand to his forehead, like he was having a flashback right then and there. John held onto him, whispering to him that he was safe.

“You still with me?” John asked quietly, after a moment.

It terrified to see his friend this out of sorts, and he was relieved when Sholto looked up to him and gave him a small smile.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, thank you John.”

“Anytime,” John shrugged. He held out a hand to him. “We’ll get through this, yeah?”

The Major shook on it.

“With your help, I think I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people tend to feel down this time a year- especially if they're already battling guilt or insomnia or depression anyway. I have a feeling the Major isn't someone who would get super into the Christmas spirit...good thing he has a great friend like John!
> 
> Life is always worth living to the fullest. ALWAYS! :)


	18. Christmas Recital

Sherlock looked around the school auditorium nervously. He and John were surrounded by hundreds of other parents anxiously waiting for the year four orchestra’s Christmas recital. Amelia had been practising for weeks, and the whole family was invited. His mum and dad had seats beside him, Molly sitting with Greg beside John, and Mycroft was supposed to be on the way.

Supposed to be.

Just like his brother was _supposed to be_ at her end of term recital in spring and most of her football matches in the summer. Sherlock was used to this from Mycroft: most of his brother’s life was unexpected meetings and demanding conference calls from world leaders. Mycroft had to be ready to drop everything at the call of his name, and Sherlock and John understood that. They hated it, but they understood it.

Amelia was still too young to understand. She knew her uncle had a very important job, but there was no way she could understand the scope of just how important Mycroft was. She didn’t understand that when he was later her match it was because he was stopping World War Three and not just because he was sitting around doing paperwork.

She had worked so hard for this recital and was so excited for it that Sherlock knew she would be heartbroken if her uncle didn’t show _again_.

Suddenly the orchestra teacher walked across the stage and took a bow. He and John exchanged worried glances. They were nervous enough for Amelia’s sake, but they had sincerely hoped Mycroft would be there as well. The last time Sherlock talked to him he seemed so sure he would make it, and even he felt a bit disappointed when he didn’t show.

Nevertheless a big smile was across his face as he watched the little girl who he loved like a daughter raise her bow carefully to her violin. The teacher raised their hands, paused, and then began conducting. The students burst into a round of “Jolly Old St Nicholas”. It was a bit off tune, of course, and a couple of the students were a bit behind the others, but you could tell by the look on their faces that they were trying their hardest.

“Look at her,” John whispered. “She’s like a little Beethoven.”

Sherlock blinked, confused.

“Beethoven played piano.”

“Whatever,” John muttered as he waved him away.

Smirking, Sherlock turned back to Amelia and watched as her tiny fingers danced up and down the bridge of her violin. He had been working on Christmas songs with her for weeks, and he knew she could play each of them by heart. Amelia had amazing talent for her age; some days he almost forgot she didn’t inherit the gift from him.

“She gets that from you,” John whispered, as though he had read his mind.

“Not really.”

“You taught her so well,” his partner said as he grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

Sherlock just nodded as he turned back to watch Amelia’s every swing of the bow, ever finger that planted down on the fingerboard. Although she blended in beautifully with the rest of the orchestra she could see every note she played and he knew she was spot on.

Next the orchestra went into “Jingle Bells” and then “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer”.

The kids had smiles on their faces by the end of Rudolph, and the entire auditorium laughed at how adorable everything was. Sherlock looked around, hopeful that Mycroft might have shown up at the last minute, but he was still nowhere to be found. The seats beside Greg had already been taken by another family.

And then the music stopped, and Amelia’s teacher turned to them with a big smile on his face.

“And now we have a very special performance by a talented member of our orchestra,” the teacher announced. “Please welcome Miss Amelia Watson, who will be playing ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’.”

His heart skipped a beat as his and John’s eyes met again.

“Did you-?” John asked, a bemused smile on his face.

“No,” Sherlock confessed.

Amelia had mentioned nothing about doing a solo. Sherlock had never seen the sheet music on her music stand or in her school folder. He’d never even heard her practise it before. In fact, he wouldn’t have even guessed she was familiar with the song!

But there she was, their little girl, standing up in front of hundreds of people with complete confidence. She held her violin up like a pro and threw one glance around the audience.

 _She’s looking for Mycroft,_ he realised, crestfallen.

It would break her heart knowing her uncle wasn’t there to see her big solo.

As the notes filled the silent room Sherlock felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck. His heart was racing; his eyes were wide, entranced as he watched the graceful movement of the bow against the strings.

“She’s so perfect,” John whispered beside him.

Sherlock slipped an arm around his partner’s shoulders and their heads rested together.

“She’s bloody brilliant, she is,” Greg announced, a little bit too loudly.

A few parents around them snickered, while others glared at them for making too much noise (and probably his choice of language too). As Amelia played out the last few notes, the notes Sherlock knew belonged to the words “if only in my dreams”, his heart tore in two as he thought of how much his brother would have loved hearing her play that.

Everyone jumped to her feet at the last note and burst into a round of applause. He looked over to John and actually caught a tear slip from his eye- which the proud father promptly wiped away with his arm. Greg whistled, and Molly called out Amelia’s name in delight.

Sherlock could only stand there as he clapped, absolutely amazed at the talent Amelia possessed.

And she learned that _all on her own_?

That meant she was really listening to his suggestions. That meant she really had an ear for music, a passion for it. Amelia couldn’t have looked any prouder as she beamed at the audience and took her bow.

Then suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder, and Sherlock turned around to find his brother smiling at him. His mouth fell open in shock as Mycroft greeted:

“Hello, baby brother.”

A grin crossed his face; he couldn’t remember ever being so happy to see Mycroft.

Okay, perhaps the day he was rescued from Serbia.

But still.

A few songs later the crowd dispersed, and Amelia came running up to him with her violin case in hand.

“Daddy!” She exclaimed as she threw herself into John’s arms.

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart!” John said as he hugged her. As they broke apart he held her shoulders and smiled down at her as he demanded: “How did you pull off doing that solo without telling us?”

“Yes,” Sherlock chimed in. “It makes me question my own deduction abilities.”

Giggling, Amelia simply smiled up at Mycroft. She gave her uncle a hug and turned back to them, glowing with pride, as she admitted:

“I practised at Uncle Mycroft’s.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, offering his brother a grateful smile. Mycroft had been offering to do some extra babysitting lately, but Sherlock just thought he was wanting to catch up with his niece.

Over the past nine years everyone had commented to him about how much he changed, but he saw changes in everyone else too. Like Sherlock himself, Mycroft had finally discovered how important it was to have love in his life. He had become so human, so kind and so caring in ways Sherlock never would have imagined his brother was capable of. Sure his schedule was unpredictable and he might miss a few important events, but if Amelia was sick or John got phoned into work and Mycroft had the night off, he’d come running over to help out.

And now, when Amelia needed her uncle to help her pull off this brilliant stunt he was there for her.

“I didn’t think I could do it,” Amelia confessed, “but Uncle Mycroft was able to help me with the music. I wanted to surprise you, you know, as a Christmas gift. So…surprise, Dad, Sherlock!”

They grinned at her before they both pulled her into a hug so tight she soon pretended like she was choking and slipped away for air. Sherlock turned to his brother and held out his hands.

“Thanks for being there, Mycroft,” he said. “Thanks for always being there.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be there more,” Mycroft said as they shook hands.

Amelia stepped up beside them, and his uncle placed an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Amelia said as she leaned up on her tip-toes to kiss her uncle on the cheek.

“That was a really advanced song for your age!” Greg commented as he stepped in beside his lover. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft and kissed him on the cheek too. This time, Mycroft blushed. “Who knew my boyfriend as so musically talented? When he said he was going to help Amelia with a surprise solo I laughed.”

“He has his moments,” Sherlock teased. “He played a particularly riveting performance of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ at a piano recital when he was four.”

Mycroft’s face turned even redder as he rolled his eyes.

“I say this calls for a celebration!” Molly cried.

“Pizza?” Amelia suggested, turning her attention back to her dad. “Please please please please please?”

Sherlock’s brother turned his nose up at the suggestion- Mycroft wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of pizza- but it was Amelia’s favourite. And how could they deny Amelia her favourite food after such a brilliant performance?

“How about it, Mycroft, Greg?” John asked. “Pizza, on us.”

With an over-dramatic sigh, Mycroft said:

“I suppose I can stomach _one_ slice of cheese pizza.”

“Yay!” Amelia exclaimed as she jumped in the air with joy.

On the way out Amelia received more than one compliment on how wonderful her performance was. Their little girl was a star- that was for sure! One day, Sherlock thought, she might even stay up all hours of the night practising while her poor flatmate was trying to sleep.

He smiled at the thought.

As they walked he wrapped an arm around Amelia’s shoulders, planted a kiss to her head, and whispered:

“I’m so proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love thinking about what Amelia's relationship with her uncles would be like. I hope you enjoy my journeys into Uncle!Mycroft! Thanks for reading!


	19. In Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: minor character death

Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, staring at the tree. His mind seemed to be trapped in one endless realisation: when they had put up that tree, three weeks ago, everything had been so perfect. Amelia was home from uni and was actually willing to decorate. John had the weekend off and spent the whole time wearing horrendous Christmas jumpers for three days straight. Sherlock and Amelia had done a duet of Christmas carols.

And then…he got the news from Mycroft.

His dad had died of a heart attack. His mum called an ambulance, and despite the world-class care he received they were just too late. His old heart had finally caught up with him, and he passed away that night. There was a funeral a few days later, then the arrangement of the will, then there was going through all his things- which he and Mycroft took control of, to save their mother the pain.

Now it was Christmas Eve, but he just didn’t feel like there was anything to celebrate.

It all just felt too surreal- his entire adulthood felt surreal because in his mind he was six years old. It was Christmastime, and he had begged and begged and begged for a violin. He’s seen someone play a solo at a symphony his parents took him to and he immediately knew that’s what he wanted to do: he wanted to be a violinist.

And a pirate.

But mainly, a violinist.

His mother was uncertain at first, claiming that he lost interest in things so quickly she wasn’t sure if he was ready to learn a musical instrument. But his father was all for it. His father ended up picking the student violin out himself, and he even found him the best instructor around to give him lessons. His father had supported his violin hobby his entire life- even when he was battling with drugs he would encourage him to play.

_Stick with the music, lad,_ he had told him, _that’s where you’ll find himself._

Now his dad was gone, and Sherlock felt like he hardly knew him.

“Dad?” A quiet voice asked behind him.

His heart leapt, and he shook himself out of it as he turned to find his twenty-one year old daughter watching him with concern. Amelia had been so amazing through his loss- being there for him with a shoulder to lean on, making him tea, helping him take care of phone calls. His and John's baby girl had become a grown woman in the blink of an eye, and he couldn't have been prouder.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Sherlock said as he opened his arms. She slipped into a hug, and he allowed himself a moment to just rest his head on his daughter’s shoulders. “How are you holding up?”

Amelia swallowed nervously. Death was a hard subject with Amelia because of the loss of her mother, and it seemed like every time she was around it she was forced to deal with her that loss all over again.

“Okay, I suppose,” she mumbled. “How about you?”

“Okay, I suppose.”

There was a pause, and then Amelia whispered:

“It just doesn’t feel like Christmas, does it?”

He shook his head and sighed as he stepped away.

“No, it doesn’t,” he confessed. 

Biting his lip, he forced himself to keep his emotions at bay. He hadn’t cried yet, not once. He was almost certain his brother hadn’t either. John actually had- he had come quite close with his parents when Amelia was a baby and seemed to have a much harder time keeping his emotions intact.

But the Holmes family was a strong bunch, and Sherlock was determined that he was able to get through this without breaking down.

His daughter brought a hand up and brushed a curl out of his eye. His hair was growing a bit too unruly, he had been wearing the same wrinkly clothes for days, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he ate. Amelia seemed to read his mind: “How about some pasta?”

Shaking his head, he protested:

“No…no, I’m fine. I don’t really feel like food.”

_“Da-ad!”_ Amelia whined. “You have to eat. You know Daddy’s going to ask me if you did, and if I tell him you refused he’s going to throw a fit. Please? Just a bit of alfredo?”

Amelia did make quite the delicious alfredo dish.

“Sure,” he sighed. “Alfredo would be nice.”

So she made him alredo with tea, and they ate it in silence. Normally he’d enjoy his pasta with a nice wine, but he had refrained from drinking. He knew if he gave into alcohol all sorts of bad temptations would start to bug him.

“You know,” Amelia said quietly. “Christmas is as much about honouring those you have lost as it is gift-giving and Christmas dinners.”

He supposed he’d never thought about it that way. He knew John mourned Mary at Christmas time, and he had once convinced that while Sherlock was ‘dead’ he had become very depressed because of having to spend Christmas without him. Now he had his own family to mourn during Christmas, but he could see Amelia’s point.

“Papa would want us to celebrate,” Amelia went on. “He wouldn’t want you to be so sad. We should honour his memory by still throwing our usual Christmas dinner. I think grandma would like it. Maybe Uncle Mycroft could even tell that story about how Papa’s car broke down when he was driving him to his first day of uni.”

Sherlock snorted at the memory. That story _was_ a family favourite, and he had a feeling his mother would never grow tired of hearing it.

“Perhaps it is best to make Mum feel as comfortable as possible,” he admitted. “If we’re all down and depressed, she will be too.”

“Exactly,” Amelia agreed. “Grandma needs to know that she is loved. She needs to know that her sons are still there for her, that they will always take care of her.”

Suddenly the thought of his mum being alone in their childhood home overhwlmed him. Out of nowhere his eyes began tearing up. He wasn’t even sure what was happening to him- this emotion! He hadn’t experienced anything like it since Mary died. But suddenly his body went completely still, completely cold. He thought of his mum, having to care of herself in that house in the middle of nowhere. He thought of her living everyday with the memories of them as a family. He thought of how hard he and Mycroft both fought to get away from his parents as soon as possible. He thought of his father being by his bedside while he lay in hospital after a cocaine overdose.

How had he ever been able to do that to his parents?

Something wet began falling from his eyes. Sherlock dropped his head into his hands, and it took him a moment to realise that he was crying.

“Dad?” Amelia asked, worried.

He simply let out a stifled sob, both ashamed and afraid of everything he was feeling.

It was Christmas, and his father was dead.

He’d never have another Christmas dinner with his dad. He’d never play violin for him again. His dad would never see Amelia graduate uni or get married.

He thought of his dad, at his own wedding, and how proud he had been.

“Dad,” Amelia whispered as she moved across the table and sat next to him. Wrapping his arms around him, she lowered her head to his shoulder and held him as he cried.

“I miss him,” he sobbed. “I’ve been an awful son.”

“No, Dad-"

“I spent so much of my life trying to break away from my family…I wanted to rebel. I thought I knew everything but I…I didn’t even know my own dad. I didn’t want him I…I wasted so much of my life disappointing him.”

“But you also proved how amazing of a person you are by turning your life around,” Amelia said softly.

“I gave up my family for drugs.” The air fell silent at his confession; he rarely talked to Amelia about his history with doing drugs, but he always had said he was open to talking about it whenever she wanted to. And, well, now _he_ wanted to. “You have no idea, love. I was never the son my parents wanted me to be.”

“But you changed!” Amelia protested. “You became the man they knew you were capable of being…you became a father, a husband. They couldn’t have been prouder of you, Dad.”

He held his daughter tight as he smiled through his tears.

“Thank you, Amelia,” he whispered. “Thanks for being here.”

“I love you, Dad.”

Pulling away, he wiped at his tears and found himself embarrassed that he had broken down in front of his daughter. He was supposed to be strong for _her_ , not the other way around.

“I love you too. You’ve been so strong through all of this- I’m so proud of you.”

His daughter just blushed as the glanced away.

“Oh!” Amelia said suddenly. She jumped to her feet and ran into her room. When she ran back she had a small box. “That day I went to help you guys sort through Papa’s things I found this. I thought you’d like to have it.”

Sherlock glanced up at her, uncertain, but carefully opened the box.

His heart stopped when he saw what was inside.

“Wow,” he breathed, in shock. “I forgot all about this.”

A sad smile crossed his face as he raised the gift in his hands. It was a Christmas ornament his mum used to hang up every year when they were kids: the ornament held a picture of a seven year-old version of himself, a fourteen year-old Mycroft, and a much younger version of his mum and dad.

“Your mum said I could give it to you,” she explained. “I just can’t believe how young you two look.”

“I know,” he said. He laughed for the first time in weeks. “God, look at Mycroft, the freckled- face little twat.”

Amelia giggled, and together they went over to the tree to hang up the ornament.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered before planting a kiss to the top of Amelia’s head.

“Happy Christmas, Dad.”

He pulled his daughter into another hug and replied:

“Happy Christmas, Amelia.”

They held each other for a few moments before Amelia began trembling.

“I miss Papa,” she said in a voice so quiet, so broken, it didn’t even sound her like her.

“He loved you so much,” he told her. “And he was so proud of you.”

“He was proud of you too.”

Sherlock smiled a little as he thought of how much he’d changed over the past couple of decades.

“I can only hope so,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs* to anyone going through similar loss during the holidays. This chapter is tribute to those we have lost but always remember during the holidays...because they are always with us.


	20. Christmas With the Bees

_He was young again and running through London, hot on the heels of Sherlock Holmes. The old Belstaff swayed behind the consultant detective as he flawlessly scaled a fence, landed on a dumpster, and fell to the ground. John followed- not as flawlessly- and he was out of breath by the time he caught up to his flatmate. In the distance the sirens of DI Lestrade’s police car filled the air. They were closing in on the criminal, and at long last their case would finally be over._

John woke with a start. His eyes blinked open in confusion, and he frowned as he tried to figure out what woke him. Then he saw his husband, leaning over him like he had just kissed him. Based on the tingling in his lips that’s exactly what happened.

“Good morning,” Sherlock greeted. “Or should I say, good afternoon.”

He looked around the living room of their country home, feeling a bit out of breath. For a moment he couldn’t comprehend that he wasn’t in London anymore- that it had actually been some time since he had even _been_ to London.

“Why’d you let me sleep so late?” John complained. “Sherlock, we still have to do the hoovering, set up the guest rooms- and have you even started dinner?”

“I’ve done all three, actually.”

There was that cunning smile. If there was one thing that hadn’t changed about Sherlock, physically, it was that smile.

“You’re amazing,” John proclaimed, kissing him on the lips. “Is the kid’s room set up too?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied as he got up and began picking up the living room.

Stretching, John shook his head to clear his mind.

“I had a dream about us,” he admitted. “From years ago.”

“Ah, the good years,” Sherlock teased. “Did you still have hair?”

Self-consciously John reached up to his head, which was almost completely stripped of the blonde strands he once wore. His face was full of wrinkles, he walked with a cane, and he could wear jumpers without people making fun of him for looking old.

He _was_ older, much older than he’d like to be, and lately he felt like life was slipping away from him. But then he’d see that smile on Sherlock’s face, he’d see his grandson running around the garden, and he remembered how much life he had lived.

“Yes,” he shot bitterly. “And you still wore your Belstaff and could still scale fences.”

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath as he forcefully picked up a bowl from the coffee table.

“It was so weird,” John confessed. “It felt like I was watching a movie of someone else’s life. I can’t even believe I ever lived that life.”

He grunted as he got up off the sofa, reminding himself of just how old he was. John looked around their cozy home, filled with old photographs and knickknacks from their previous residencies. They had a gorgeous garden where he and Sherlock planted vegetables whenever they had the energy. Sherlock looked after his bees (yes, _bees_ ) and still played his violin at all hours of the night. John liked to simply read through old cases and talk to Amelia whenever he could.

They were living out their retirement in peace, in serenity, the way they had always dreamed. As much as he young for their life back in London, he had to admit they had it pretty good.

“Yes, but from that life we got Amelia,” Sherlock pointed out. “And from _that_ life we got Charlie. Then we got the bees.”

“Ah, yes,” John teased with a smile. “The bees: my favourite part about our relationship.”

“Bees are fascinating, John.”

“So I’ve heard.”

They grinned at each other but were interrupted when the doorbell rang. John’s heart leapt; he hadn’t seen Amelia in about a month, and he already felt like he had missed out on so much. He was absolutely giddy about seeing her again, and he almost broke out into a run toward the door on instinct.

He remembered his age and settled for his usual limp, but his world brightened when he opened the door to find his family.

“Grandpa!” His grandson exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere as he threw his arms around John.

“Hey, Charlie!” John greeted. Amelia appeared next, and they beamed at each other a moment before hugging each other too. “You look good.”

“You do too, Daddy,” Amelia replied.

He laughed; he knew she was only trying to make him feel better.

“How are you?” She asked with that sincere, serious, voice she always had when she greeted him. It was her way of telling him that if anything was wrong, he should tell her.

“I’m fine,” he replied honestly. She eyed him, uncertain, but he glanced around his house, taking in how peaceful and silent it was, as though to prove his point. “Really, I’ve been doing great.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Amelia warned as she stepped inside. “Where’s Dad?”

He nodded back toward the kitchen, and Amelia took Charlie by hand and wondered in that direction. His son-in-law was next, and then Mycroft. The elder Holmes brother was looking…well, just that. Like the rest of them, Mycroft had seen better years. His face seemed worn and tired these days, and his eyes were always distant. Greg had once told him that he felt like Mycroft constantly lived in guilt. Even though he had retired from his government work some time ago, it seemed like Mycroft wasn’t able to move past it. It was like now that he was away from it Mycroft was really coming to terms with all he had done, Greg said. His husband’s brother simply nodded at him before stepping through the door, and when Greg followed him he threw John a worried look.

“How is he?” John asked quietly, nodding back toward Mycroft.

Shrugging, Greg admitted:

“I can’t tell, most days. I’m not sure what he’s going through. We all have our fair share of guilt and baggage, but Mycroft…he doesn’t sleep, you know? He’s not taking care of himself.”

“I’ll get Sherlock to talk to him,” John promised,

Greg threw him a grateful smile before throwing his arms around him.

Dinner ended up lasting nearly over an hour as they exchanged stories and listen to Amelia’s tales about her work as a freelance violinist and teacher. Charlie went on and on about his football league. Amelia’s husband pretended to be interested in the bees and Greg talked about meeting up with some of his old Scotland Yard mates not too long ago.

Mycroft hardly said a word.

After dinner John watched as the two brothers snuck away outside, just like they used to do when they were younger and would sneak outside for a smoke. He watched as they chatted, and he even caught a smile cross Mycroft’s face.

“I think he’s okay,” Amelia said as she suddenly appeared beside him. “Uncle Mycroft, I mean. I think he’s just not really sure what do with himself now that he’s retired.”

“He’s been retired for some time, Amelia,” John pointed out.

His daughter simply shrugged.

“Yeah, but he was in the government for so long. Personally I think he just can’t get over the fact that he’s not in charge of everything anymore.”

John burst out laughing- now _that_ was a perfectly plausible explanation. A few minutes later the two brothers stepped back inside and stopped when they found Amelia and John staring at them.

“Everything okay?” Mycroft asked.

“We were just wondering that about you, Uncle Mycroft,” Amelia admitted.

He held his breath for a moment, nervous about his daughter being so straightforward with her uncle. But if there was one person in this world Mycroft would never get upset with, it was his niece.

“Everything’s fine,” Mycroft replied.

Even the way he said it sounded hollow, like he didn’t even believe his own words. Sherlock and his brother walked passed them, to where Charlie was playing with a toy train with his dad.

“It’s so weird, isn’t it?” Amelia asked. “Everyone’s just so different. I miss being young again, sometimes.”

“You miss being young?” John shot, Amelia, you’re thirty-one!”

“I know,” she laughed, “but I feel older than that sometimes.”

“Parenthood can do that to you,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

A moment of silence passed them as they watched everyone watch Charlie play. Amelia’s eyes were bright and hopeful- the same way his always looked when his daughter was about Charlie’s age. The world was still so new to her. He knew his daughter didn’t realise it, but she _was_ young. She had no idea what all lay ahead of her.

“Well,” Amelia announced suddenly, “if it’s okay with you, I’d like to give you and Dad an early gift.”

John shrugged and replied:

“Have I ever turned down a gift?”

Amelia just laughed and called over to everyone:

“Hey, guys, I have something to give to my Dads.”

They watched eagerly, perfectly silent, as she went over to her bag of gifts and pulled out one that look like a big book. John grinned as he carefully tore away the wrapping, feeling a bit child-like.

It was a scrapbook.

John stopped.

The front cover was a picture of the doorway of 221B. He turned the page and found headline from their first case.

“Oh my god,” John whispered. “Sherlock, come look at this.”

Sherlock got up and walked over to him. When his husband peered over his shoulder at the scrapbook, his mouth fell open and his eyes watered.

“Amelia,” Sherlock whispered, immediately pulling their daughter into another hug.

John turned the page again to find what was next. Each page held old newspaper clippings and articles about their cases. There were excerpts from John’s old blog and paparazzi pictures. There were personal pictures too, ones Mrs Hudson had taken. There was a whole section on Amelia’s birth and her childhood. He laughed at a particularly unflattering picture of Sherlock holding up a one year-old Amelia at a safe distance from his body. His nose was turned up, like he was disgusted by the smell of her nappy.

“This is brilliant, sweetheart,” John said. “Thank you so much.”

He joined his husband and daughter in their embrace and for a moment they just stood there, eyes closed, and remembered their years together back in their old home. Suddenly John missed those days so much it hurt, and he found himself choking back a sob. It was embarrassing, but he just couldn’t help it.

“Oh, Daddy!” Amelia said as she kissed him on the cheek. “You two have had the most brilliant life together.”

Breaking apart, his eyes found Sherlock’s and they shared a smile. For a moment he could just picture them standing in Baker Street, running off the adrenaline rush of having just finished a case. He could smell the scent of Chinese take-away and hear Mrs Hudson singing in her flat. He could hear Sherlock’s violin and the way it bounced off the walls of the flat, silencing the noise of the traffic outside. He could feel the dampness of the air and how relaxed he used to be whenever he stepped inside.

“Yeah,” John agreed softly. “Yeah, it hasn’t been half-bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve! I've never felt very confident in writing a future, older, Sherlock and John so I hope the characterisation in this was okay. Thanks for reading and commenting!


	21. A Christmas Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for the wait! I went out of town and ended up not having enough time to write the final chapter before I went. But here it is!

“Deep breaths, love,” Sherlock whispered into his ear.

John nodded as he let out a shaky breath and shook his arms to try to rid himself of all his nervous energy. His husband stole a quick kiss to his cheek before taking his hand and squeezing it.

“Can you believe how beautiful it is here?” Sherlock asked him. He was trying to meet his eyes, and John knew Sherlock was trying to distract him from his nerves. Looking around the church, John had to admit it was one of the most beautiful places of worship he had ever been to. “Our daughter actually pulled off a Christmas wedding.”

“Yeah” John said, letting out a nervous laugh. “Whatever Amelia wants she makes sure she gets.”

“Yeah, well now she’s getting a wonderful husband.”

John flinched at the comment; as much as he liked his daughter’s fiancé, as much as he respected him, he just couldn’t accept that he was about to hand his baby girl over to another man. Another man who was going to be responsible for her, who was going to take care of her. Another man who was going to be her new number one guy in her life. He had fulfilled his duty as father, and now he was letting her go into the Real World. He was letting her go to so she could start a family of her own.

And he wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready at all.

Sherlock’s hand fell on his cheek, and John finally raised his eyes. His husband’s eyes were so full of hope and joy that he felt horrible to only be able to feel nerves and sadness. Of course Amelia was just as much Sherlock’s daughter as she was his, but she had _his_ blood running through her veins. It was _his_ wife that died giving birth to her and she had _his_ eyes and nose. Today he wasn’t just giving Amelia away to this marriage- he felt like he was giving part of himself away too.

Not to mention, she would be moving to London with her husband, which meant he might get to see her on weekends, at best. But in reality, she would be starting a new life with new friends, new places to go. She wouldn’t have room for her dear old dad anymore. How did Sherlock not realise this? How could he not be more worried?

“Hey,” Sherlock said quietly. “Robert is a terrific, sweet, charming, caring guy. Plus he passed all of Mycroft’s background and security checks. Amelia couldn’t be in better hands. Our daughter is getting married today, on Christmas Eve, and…it’s all a bit, storybook, isn’t it? Everything’s worked out perfectly, and we’ve got to be there for her because we both know marriage can have its’ up and downs. We’ve still got some guidance to do. Plus you know she’ll always come home…especially when she needs money.”

He let out a laugh at that- his first sincere laugh of the day. He’d been faking all his laughs and smiles so far because inside butterflies were cluttering his stomach. His chest was so tight it almost felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was in a dream- a beautiful, amazing, nerve-wracking, dream.

“Look around,” Sherlock said, turning him toward the lobby of the church.” Everyone was gathered inside waiting for the wedding to start; Sherlock and John were all set to walk the bride down the aisle. All they were waiting on was Amelia.

Out in the lobby everything was decorated to be a magical Christmas wonderland. There was a gorgeous Christmas tree standing tall, going all the way to the ceiling. They actually decorated it themselves with ornaments from home to make it more personal. There was fake snow on the floor and presents from guests were wrapped in Christmas paper underneath the tree (to be transferred to the reception later). Sherlock had recorded an album of Christmas songs on the violin, and the breathtaking music filled the room. John shuddered at the sheer beauty of it all. His husband was right: it _was_ perfect. Amelia couldn’t have done a better job.

If only she could have arranged everything for another time, a time when he was ready.

“It’s beautiful,” John confessed in a whisper. “It’s just…she’s my little girl, Sherlock. I taught her how to walk and talk. I taught her how to read and how to drive.”

“Actually, _I_ taught her how to drive,” Sherlock interrupted.

John decided to ignore him.

“I taught her almost everything she knows. I even gave her advice about dating. I actually gave her the sex talk- maybe I did that too soon. Maybe I should have waited another forty years.”

With a laugh, Sherlock pointed out:

“We actually wanted to live to see our daughter get married. We have to let her grow up. I’m nervous too, but I trust her. I trust that she’s ready for this.”

“I trust her too,” he replied. “And I trust Robert, I do. I know he’s wonderful- he’s perfect for her. I just…I’m not ready to let her go.”

He squeezed Sherlock’s hands, and his husband chose the moment to steal a kiss to his lips.

“To be honest I haven’t slept all week,” Sherlock confessed as their foreheads rested together. “To be honest, I’m terrified too. But she’s _so happy_ , and that’s all I want.”

“It’s all I want too.”

They smiled at each other, and at last his stomach felt a bit more at ease. He felt like he could breathe again, and he was beginning to justify this whole marriage situation in his head. Sherlock was right- what was most important was that Amelia was happy and safe. If she felt like getting married to this bloke would make her happy, and if she felt safe and taken care of, then everything was okay, wasn’t it?

“You’re not having a nervous breakdown, are you Daddy?”

The sound of his daughter’s voice took his breath away, and his body went stiff as he forced himself to turn to face her.

But when he saw her gorgeous white gown- _Mary’s_ gown- her simple, straight, beautiful blonde hair tucked behind her ears and trailing down her back, her bright eyes, so full of excitement and anxiety, and his nerves suddenly went away.

“Staring is rude,” Amelia pointed out.

“You look beautiful,” Sherlock finally breathed. His husband suddenly looked a bit paler than he did a moment ago; judging by the way John looked he thought he must look just as ghostly.

“Thank you, Dad,” Amelia whispered.

Carefully, she stepped forward and pulled Sherlock into a tight hug.

“I love you so much,” Sherlock mumbled into her ear, “and I’m so proud.”

“I love you too,” Amelia said as she pulled away. Her eyes were misting over, and her voice sounded a bit hoarse as she fought the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Thank you so much for helping me pull this off. It’s gorgeous- it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And thank you for being such a great dad. Thanks for always being there for me, for both of us.”

She pulled John into a hug and rested her head on his shoulders, just like she did so many times as a child.

“My life wouldn’t be complete without you two,” Sherlock announced with a grin.

Amelia smiled at Sherlock before turning to John. Her face fell a bit as she saw how nervous he was, and he tried to adjust his posture to hide it.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Amelia promised quietly. “Robert’s a good man.”

“I know he is,” John whispered. “I do. And I trust you with him. I _am_ happy for you- so very happy.”

“Good,” his daughter whispered as she flashed a bright, grateful, smile. “You’ve been so amazing to me my whole life. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to be a single father for so long, but you are the best dad a girl could dream of having. You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know, and it’s only because of you that I’m ready to do this.”

“ _Only_ because of him?” Sherlock teased.

Amelia rolled her eyes.

“And because of you,” She laughed.

She grabbed both of their arms so that they could embrace each other in a group hug.

“Thank you for supporting me,” Amelia whispered as they held onto each other. “Thank you for always being there.”

“And we’ll always continue to be there,” John said as they broke apart. He took Amelia’s hands and squeezed them. “And we’ll always support you.”

“Good,” Amelia said. Music sounded from inside of their church- it was their cue! This was really happening. John took a final deep breath as the three of them turned toward the church doors that would open at any moment. Their entire family, all of their friends and co-workers waited inside for them. He knew it was time to put on his brave face; he could do this. He could. “Good, that’s really good, because there’s something you two should know before we do this. I promise it’s not the reason we’re getting married, we just found out.”

They both turned to stare at their daughter, mouth agape, as the same thought flooded their minds. _Was she-? Could she be-?_

At last Amelia smiled and put them out of their misery as she announced:

“I’m pregnant.”

John froze. Sherlock looked petrified. The doors opened before them, and everyone turned just in time to see them both husbands looking like they might faint.

And there Amelia was, beaming with joy and pride. Taking in a deep breath herself, she quickly turned to John, and winked.

“Happy Christmas, Daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End. 
> 
> Thank you SO much for going on this journey of Christmases with me! It turned out to be a really great way to tell the story of this little family. I'm so happy everyone seemed to enjoy this so much, and I hope you were satisfied with the ending! I plan do do more Amelia stories- particularly I want to do a story of Sherlock and John's wedding! Would you be interested?
> 
> I'd appreciate hearing your final thoughts on this fic. Thanks for all your lovely comments, kudos, and for bookmarking and subscribing. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Until next time...


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